Escape
by ForbalaTheGreen
Summary: Gambit overhears a plot to kidnap Rogue and he takes her on the run. Will they be able to keep their freedom, and what will happen down the line? What will Logan think? ROMY.
1. Plans

**Hey, there, dear readers! I know I'm doing some more hetero fic (I am acting so strange lately) but I just **_**love**_** Remy/Anna Marie. Don't you? Of course you do.**

**So I kind of got inspiration for this from another ROMY fic I was reading, but I hope it's quite different. Being as I haven't finished that fic, I can't say for certain. No intentions to copy, here.**

**And so we begin! Enjoy the ROMY goodness!**

**-Forbala-**

CHAPTER ONE: PLANS

_We must bring her in._

Magneto's voice resonated within Gambit's head.

_We must take her._

Gambit grit his teeth in anger.

_We must have Rogue_.

X

Gambit had been sneaking back into the Acolytes' headquarters when he'd heard Magneto giving a mission to Mystique, one she seemed all too happy to take.

Magneto wanted Rogue on his team. She was powerful and extraordinarily useful. It was no wonder he wanted her. He had charged Mystique with recruiting her, in any way necessary.

Gambit had left almost immediately. He had been returning to rejoin the Acolytes, but his feelings toward Rogue far outweighed any loyalty he felt to Magneto.

He would have to save Rogue, somehow. Failure wasn't an option.

X

Rogue was eating dinner with the rest of the teenaged mutants, laughing and talking and teasing each other. It was one of her rare good—not tolerable, but actually _good_—days, and she was enjoying it. She teased her elf brother and got playful nudges in return, along with retorts in a cute English-German mix.

"_Scheisse_, Rogue, leave my tail alone!" he whined, poking her in the face with said tail.

"Not a chance, fuzzball," she said, grabbing it with a gloved hand and putting it in Kurt's face.

After dinner wound down and the students did their clean-up duties, Rogue retired to her room for a pleasant shower, and then to finish her homework and get to bed early. She was exhausted from the Danger Room session earlier.

She turned on the water in the bathroom and pulled her clothes off, tossing them in the hamper. When she got in, the stream of hot water relaxed her and put her at ease. After she had washed, her mind turned to other things. She repositioned the showerhead, lie down in the tub, and let the pounding water help her reach orgasm. She couldn't keep a little mewl or two from escaping her lips as she fell further and further into ecstasy. Nothing was better for relaxation than sexual release. And just as she was reaching her peak, she saw Gambit's face in her mind. It shocked her, but oddly enough made her orgasm that much more intense.

As she climbed down off the high, she smoothed her hair down and got out of the shower. Wrapped in a towel, her hair dripping down behind her, she opened to door to her bedroom.

And saw Remy LeBeau lounging on her bed.

"Well, _bonsior, chere,_" he said, sitting up a little bit straighter. His eyes traced her up and down then, with obvious effort, he pinned them to her face. "How was your shower?"

"Gambit!" she gasped, trying to hide herself, but the small towel did very little in that department.

"What were those li'l sounds I heard? Sounded like you was havin' fun," he teased. He'd obviously heard the little sounds she had let slip and she blushed furiously.

"What're you doin' here?" she demanded, ignoring the comment. She found her robe and pulled it on over the towel, her back to the thief.

"Jus' come to see you, _chere_."

"Bull hockey," she said, turning back to him, slightly more covered.

He stood up off the bed and went to her. She took a step back nervously, but he advanced still. He was only a foot away when he stopped. "I need to talk t' y', Rogue," he said, suddenly serious.

She blinked in confusion, then said, "Well, d'you think I could git dressed first?"

"Mm, _oui_. I'll wait in here till y' done." He slipped into the bathroom and closed the door.

Rogue dressed in autopilot in dark jeans and a fitted, long-sleeved t-shirt. Why was Gambit there, for real? Why had he gone so serious all of a sudden? Why had she seen his face in her fantasy? And why her heart been fluttering when he'd seen her, wet and barely covered?

Embarrassment, she decided, was the answer to that last question, and anger.

When she was ready, she let Gambit back into the room. "Remy's a bit sad about de costume change, _chere_, but dat shirt is nice, too," he said, examining the way the soft cotton clung to her curves, then leaning against her desk.

"What's this all about, Swamp Rat?" she asked, arms crossed nervously and defiantly.

He sobered up instantly. "Rogue, you're in danger. Magneto wants you for de Acolytes and he's sent Mystique to fetch y'. I overheard dem talkin' 'bout it. We need t' get y' out o' here. It's de only way you'll be safe, _chere_."

Rogue was shocked, but quickly recovered. "Why do they want me?"

"You're powerful, Rogue. If Magneto had you on his side, he could have the powers o' any mutant he wanted."

She nodded. "Okay, fine, but why should I believe you? You're on _his_ side. For all I know, you're just gonna take me right to 'im."

"_Non_, Remy would never trick y'. Absorb my thoughts 'n see, _chere_. Remy be tellin' de truth." He lifted her gloved hand in his and brought it to his face, much like he'd done when he'd kidnapped her in that train car. And, just like then, she pulled her hand away. She was afraid to see what was in his head. She had enough voices and personalities to deal with; she didn't need to add the obnoxious, flirty Cajun to that mix.

"No, fine, I believe you. But what're we gonna do?"

"I t'ink we should run, hide for a while. Y' know he's powerful, and I don' wan' 'im t' find y', _chere_. We need to disappear."

"And if anyone's good at disappearin', it's you, ain't it?" she said, rolling her eyes.

"_Oui_. So pack a bag 'n _allons-y_."

"Gambit, I'm not leaving."

"_Chere_, I really t'ink we should go." He went to her dresser and began to pull out clothes: jeans, sweaters (examining each, holding it up to Rogue, and no doubt picturing her in it), and socks. When he got to her underwear, she darted over and slammed the drawer shut.

"Keep away from there, pervert!" she reprimanded, blushing.

"But, _chere_, Remy wanted to see what sorts of _unmentionables_ y' wear," he teased, smirking. She swatted him away from the dresser and took her clothes from his hands, tossing them on the bed.

"Gambit, why're you in such a rush? Can't this wait until tomorrow?"

"Well, y' see, dere's one more t'ing Remy heard."

"And that would be?"

"Mystique is comin' for y' t'night. We only have _unes hores_, maybe minutes. So pack a bag and let's get out o' here before _madame bleu_ arrives."

So she was on her way, or so Gambit said. The big question was: Did Rogue trust Gambit? He had kidnapped her once before, and while he seemed to have had sincere concern for her, he had used her too. Could she trust him to keep her safe and not use her for his own ends? Rogue wasn't sure whether she trusted him, wasn't sure she wanted to leave her family to go chasing some guy.

Rogue looked into he red eyes and saw sincerity there and honest-to-goodness concern.

Rogue kicked it into gear. She dumped her school things from her backpack onto the bed and shoved in the clothes Gambit had picked out. Then she went to the dresser and grabbed handfuls of underwear, then to the bathroom for her toothbrush, toothpaste, hairbrush, and hair ties. She grabbed a few extra pairs of gloves. Looking around her room, she tried to think if she'd forgotten anything.

"We good, _chere_?" Gambit asked, coming up to her.

"Just one more thing." She grabbed her school notebook and a pen and wrote a note. Placing it on her pillow, she went to the window, which was still open from Gambit's entrance. "Okay, let's go."

When Logan came later that night to say goodnight to her, he found the note on Rogue's bed and growled loud enough for most of the mansion to hear.

_Logan—_

_I'm leaving. Don't worry about me. I'll come back when I can. I'm sorry._

_Rogue_


	2. On The Run

**Hello again! I hope all of you loved chapter one. I should be working on my NaNoWriMo novel, but I'm doing this instead. Hey, the point is, I'm having fun! Right? Ah, well, here's more ROMY goodness!**

**Oh, also, for anyone curious, this was inspired by Azalea Rose Black's story **_**Choices**_** because I kept screaming at the computer, "Just take her and RUN, dammit!" It's a very good story. So you should go read it. But not until you finish this chapter.**

**Enjoy!**

**-Forbala-**

CHAPTER TWO: ON THE RUN

Gambit led Rogue over the wall of the X-Mansion and to an antique car and tossed her bag in the trunk. Rogue took a minute to examine the car. It was a Morgan 4/4 Sport, two-seater convertible. It was a British car with a long hood and looked like something out of the forties or maybe a James Bond movie. The hood was ventilated, the wheels were spoked, the frame swept over the wheels, down under the small low doors, and over the back wheels. The whole interior was old-fashioned brown leather. God, it was hot.

Rogue ran her hand over the polished gray-green metal, then jumped at the start of the engine. The sound sent shivers down her spine, the good kind, and it made her a little nervous.

"I know de car is nice, _chere_, but it's time t' go." Gambit said, leaning over and opening her door. She slid in and buckled her seat belt and they were off.

"Where are we going?" Rogue asked, some ten minutes into their drive as they lost sight of the X-Mansion.

"Unfortunately, Louisiana and Mississippi are too obvious. They would expect us t' go dere. We gonn' have t' move 'round a lot. We'll start in Virginia. I reckon we can stay dere for a while b'fore Mysty finds us."

Rogue nodded and looked at the road disappearing before them as she left her home for some great unknown. Again.

They were in Pennsylvania a few hours before dawn, when Gambit pulled off the highway and checked them into a tiny motel room. Rogue took her pack and saw that Gambit brought in a backpack, presumably with clothes in it, but also a small duffel.

There was only one bed in the room.

"Gambit," Rogue said, turning on him, her accent getting thicker in her anger. "What d'you think you're doing?"

"_Chere_, dey only had singles left. Remy'll sleep on de floor if it makes y' feel better." He went to the closet and pulled out the extra blankets, spreading them on the floor as proof of his sincerity. Rogue felt bad about accusing him of attempting to seduce her, especially when he was there trying to save her (supposedly. She still wasn't totally sure).

She went to the bathroom, locked the door, and changed into her long-sleeved pajamas and brushed her teeth. When she emerged, she saw Gambit playing Solitaire on the floor. He had turned the bed back and taken one of the two pillows. Rogue sat on the bed, her backpack on the floor beside her.

"Gambit?" she asked uncertainly.

"Mm?"

He didn't look up from his card game. Rogue looked at him, trying to decide what exactly she thought of him. His face was strong and angular, his body lean, athletic, almost leonine. His brown hair fell in his face and he brushed it away, only to have it fall in his red eyes again. She remembered the last time she'd run off with (aka, been kidnapped by) him. He had used her, yes, but he had also been very kind to her. He had made her feel worthwhile and pretty. And he had given her his favourite playing card, the Queen of Hearts. In fact, she reached into her pack and pulled it out, caressing it. It was worn from all the time it had spent in her pockets, but she didn't care. It looked bright and shiny and new to her.

"_Chere_?" he asked, looking up at her after she hadn't spoken for a while. He looked at her hands and smirked. "Y' still got Remy's card, hm?"

"What of it, Swamp Rat?" she retorted, hiding it in her lap and trying to hide her embarrassment.

He went to sit beside her on the bed, his card game swept up and hid in his pants pocket. He picked up her hand and turned it over to look at the card she held. "She's been t'rough a lot, huh?"

"I guess." She still didn't look at him.

He went to pull her chin up, but she darted back against the headboard. "Are you insane! You could die, idgit!"

"Don' care, _chere_. A touch from such a _belle fille_ is worth it."

Rogue blushed and dodged him again, saying, "You really are stupid, Swamp Rat."

"That may be true, _chere_." He stopped reaching for her and settled with laying across the bed. "What was it y' wanted t' ask Remy?"

She sat back against the wall. "I dunno. I was thinking…I guess I was just thinking about all this. I'm not so sure running away is the best tactic. Mystique is just gonna follow us. Who knows how long it'll be before it's safe enough to go back? Don't you think it's better to just fight her?"

Gambit put his hand on her knee through her pajama pants. "I understand, _chere_, and Remy wants to fight _madame bleu_ too, but I just t'ink we need to shake her off first. I promise I'll take y' back t' de X-Men soon."

Rogue nodded and lay down under the blankets. Gambit moved to the floor and they both got what sleep they could.

X

Only two hours after Rogue was spirited away, and half an hour after Logan had found her note and her room stinking of Gambit, Mystique arrived. She sneaked into the girl's room to find Logan, Scott, Jean, and Kitty, but not sign of Rogue. She leapt off the windowsill and landed running on the grass below. Logan jumped out the window and went racing after her.

X

When morning came in full, Gambit and Rogue got ready quickly and went straight to the car after checking out. They went through the McDonald's breakfast drive-through and got on the road quickly. Rogue was loath to eat in his gorgeous, obviously expensive car, but he assured her it was fine, so long as she was careful. After all, they could always clean it.

"How did y' sleep, _chere_?" Gambit asked as they got going on the highway.

"Pretty good. It's hard not to think about what kinda germs and nasty God-knows-what is all over that room, though," she said with a shudder.

"Mm, _oui_. _Merci Deu_ for dat shower, right?" he said, looking at Rogue with a pervy smirk.

She smacked his arm and berated him. "Stop bein' such a perv!"

"_Non_, it's not possible, _chere_. You look to cute when y' embarrassed." She crossed her arms over her chest in annoyance, having no retort for that.

X

"Why are you after Rogue?" Logan growled in Mystique's face. He had managed to catch her, if only barely and with some help, and he was now locked in an obscure room of the secret basement, interrogating her.

She struggled against her bonds, but it was useless. She was in thick steel restraints holding her in a star position in the middle of the room. It would be damn near impossible for her to escape.

Logan cracked his knuckles and smirked. "Listen, bitch, you're gonna tell me what Magneto wants with Rogue, or I'm gonna have to get creative."

Mystique couldn't quite hide her reaction: fear. She was smart to fear the Wolverine. He was one badass motherfucker who was terrifying under normal circumstances. Now his surrogate daughter had gone missing, possibly because Mystique was after her. He wanted answers and goddammit he wanted them now.

"Listen, I don't know what he wants with her. I'm just the _servant_," she spat out, obviously pissed off about her position in Magneto's gang. Logan thought he could use her dissatisfaction to his advantage.

"Tell me everything you know," Wolverine ordered.


	3. Virginia

**Hi, darlings! Here's another installment of my latest distraction. Being as I'm so being in NaNoWriMo, and the deadline is about five days away (less, by the time you read this), I have decided to put it off until next year. This way, I can focus all my energy on giving you this! (When I'm not working on my final papers, that is.)**

**I'm going be doing some more French in this, but as all the French I know comes from X-Men, X-Men fanfictions, and **_**Moulin Rouge**_**, try not to be too hard on me. I'll be using a translator for the most part, because I can't always call my French-speaking friend. God, I wish they spoke Spanish.**

**And one more thing: You may have noticed, I'm not really writing Rogue's accent. You'll have to imagine it, because writing a Southern accent is pretty damn near impossible. If you need a reference, go watch **_**X-Men: Evolution**_** or, better yet, **_**The Yaya Sisterhood**_**.**

**Enjoy!**

**-Forbala-**

CHAPTER THREE: VIRGINIA

The following day, Rogue and Gambit found themselves in Virginia. They had made excellent time. Gambit swallowed his pride and let Rogue drive for a stretch, and he even fell asleep, once he assured himself his precious car was in no especial danger.

"Here we are, _chere_, Richmond, Virginia."

"What're doing here?"

"We'll hide here for a week or so. Then we'll move on."

"We're not gonna stay in some shit motel are we?"

"_Non, chere,_ we gonn' get a real hotel dis time."

"Good, 'cause those highway motels are _gross._"

Gambit laughed. "My apologies, _chere_. Remy'll make it better."

Rogue's heart lifted at the sound of his laughter. She realized she'd never heard it before, and she loved the sound. He was always carefree, or seemingly, but his laugh was different, somehow. It made him seem…almost more mature. The playboy thief she knew all too well smirked, but never laughed. This man, Gambit the Protector and Friend, he could laugh. It made Rogue feel happy and safe.

"Not dat Remy don' mind y' lookin' at him, but y' all right, _chere_?" Gambit asked when she kept staring and smiling.

"Oh, yeah, I'm fine," she said, shaking herself out her daze.

That was the second time she'd spaced out while watching him. What was wrong with her?

X

Magneto was pissed. The fact that Mystique had not returned two days later, proving she had failed, was really bothering him. His best agent had failed him.

"Sabretooth!" he yelled. The massive, animalistic man entered Magneto's office.

"Go find Rogue and bring her back. _Alive_. Do not harm her!" Sabretooth grunted and left his master's office.

Something had to have happened. It was unlikely that Mystique had been captured, but possible. After all, Wolverine was very protective of Rogue. Was it possible that Rogue had escaped? Doubtful. She hadn't known she was in danger. Mystique being captured was much more likely.

X

"Wow, Gambit! This room is beautiful!" Rogue gushed as she entered the posh hotel room. She dropped her backpack by the door and walked further in. There was a kitchenette/living room in the front with a full bathroom in the back, and off to either side was a bedroom with a queen-sized bed.

While Rogue explored, Gambit closed the door softly and went to the windows. He opened each one as far as it would go (which wasn't far, being as this was sue-fearing hotel), checked for observers, closed the window, bolted it, and closed the shades.

"Gambit, how can you afford this?"

"I'm very good at m' trade, _chere_."

"Oh, God," she sighed. "Why did I even ask?"

"Y'know, Rogue," Gambit said as they sat down on the couch. "Dere's no reason to waste such a big suite on jus' the two o' us. We could get a smaller room an' share."

"_Non, merci, mon voleur perverti_," Rogue said. Gambit raised his eyebrows slightly. He hadn't known she spoke a word of French. "_Oui, _Gambit, _je parle couramment_."

"_C'est interesant_," he cooed. "But if y' insist, _chere_." He turned on the TV and put his arm around Rogue. She pushed it away and he shrugged, flipping channels.

X

Logan was pacing in Professor Xavier's office. "I can't believe it," he was muttering over and over.

"Logan, please calm down," the Professor said in a smooth voice.

"I can't, Chuck! God knows what Magneto's doing now! Mystique failed, so he'll probably send someone else!"

"I know, Logan, but I'm sure Rogue is safe. She is quite capable, and if your nose is right, Gambit is with her. The two of them together could probably disappear for decades."

"Dammit! She shouldn't _have_ to disappear!" He slammed his massive fists on the desk. Charles Xavier remained calm. "She finally got settled here! She was _happy_! Now Magneto's taking all that away from her! As if she needs more trouble."

"I know, Logan, but we will find her."

"I sure hope so, Chuck."

A week later, Sabretooth attacked the mansion, much less subtly than Mystique had. They were unable to capture him and, in all the confusion, Mystique escaped.

X

Rogue lay asleep in her hotel bed. Gambit was making daily payments on a credit card under the alias Etienne Picard. They had seen no trouble thus far, but one never knew. The two had been keeping a low profile. They had bought groceries and had most of their meals in the hotel room. Usually Rogue cooked—it was one of her favourite things to do—but sometimes Gambit cooked, and Rogue was surprised at how good he was. His dishes were usually spicier, in the way Cajun food often was, but it was undoubtedly delicious.

As Rogue woke up that morning, blinking at the sunlight streaming between the curtains, she noticed something different.

There was a man in her bed. Specifically, Gambit.

"Holy shit!" she hissed, rolling over the edge in her surprise. Gambit reached around and grabbed her clothed waist, pulling her back into the bed.

"Morning, _chere_. How'd y' sleep?" he asked.

"Just fine, thanks, except _what're you doing in my bed_?" she demanded, sitting up. She looked at his bare chest briefly then back to his face.

"Jus' thought I'd come an' see y'. Do y' know how cute y' are when y' sleep?" He reached for her hand, still laying down. She jerked away. "_Non_, I'm wearin' gloves. I's safe."

She glared at him.

"Fine, fine, no touchin', Remy sees."

"God, you never stop, do you?" she sighed, putting her face in her hands.

"Not while Remy alive, _chere_."

"God," she sighed again. "I'm gonna go take a shower—and no, you can't join."

"Can Remy watch?"

"_No_."

Rogue grabbed some clothes from her bag and disappeared into the bathroom. Gambit sighed and rolled out of the bed. Every day was getting harder—in more ways than one. Being so close to her all the time, but unable to touch—always unable to touch—it was killing him. In the middle of the night, he'd woken up in a cold sweat, dreaming about her. He'd been able to touch her without the nasty side effects. And he had just held her and kissed her. She had been sitting in his lap, holding his hand. They had kissed. Passionately.

And he had woken up.

He had tried to go back to sleep, then he had paced about in his room, and when a snack didn't help either, he'd slipped silently into Rogue's room. When he'd gotten into the bed, she had rolled over and reached for him. He'd gone back to his room and pulled on a pair of gloves then, on further reflection, removed his shirt. He knew they couldn't touch, but no harm in showing off a little.

He sighed and rolled out of the bed. Time to get up, he supposed. The temptation to sneak into the bathroom was overwhelming, but he knew it would _not_ endear him to Rogue, and so he resisted.

Instead, he went to the kitchen, still clad only in loose sweatpants, and began on breakfast. Several minutes later, the bathroom door opened and Rogue emerged in a cloud of steam. She was only wearing a towel and Gambit swallowed hard.

"Hey, _chere_," he said, looking at the eggs and bacon to distract himself.

"Mornin', Swamp Rat," she called, walking into her room. "What're you doin—?"

_CRASH!_

Gambit was knocked to the floor suddenly by an explosion of glass. His ears were ringing and he felt cuts on his skin, but he rolled to his feet immediately and looked around for the threat.

There, a massive pile of muscle, stood Sabretooth. He looked at Gambit, looked over to where Rogue lay in a towel on the floor, and he grinned sinisterly. They both bolted for the girl at the same moment.

**Look how long this chapter was! Look at it! Isn't it marvelous? I'm very proud. Long chapters aren't my strong suit. Anyway, here's what I was trying to say. I hope I succeeded, or got close enough: **

_**Non, merci, mon voleur perverti**_** = No, thank you, my perverted thief (I like how it rhymes!)**

_**Oui, **_**Gambit, **_**je parle couramment**_** = Yes, Gambit, I'm fluent**


	4. On The Road Again

**Haha, sorry to leave you with that cliffie, darlings. But here is the next chapter! I worked very hard so you wouldn't have to wait **_**too**_** long to see what happens. Aren't you proud? Just nod and smile.**

**Also, some of you may have noticed that I did not think that last chapter through. Now I have to deal with my silliness. Oh goodie.**

**One last note before we begin: it's getting to be exam time, and this will probably be the last update for a couple weeks. I wanted to get something up before my brief hiatus, so it's a bit shorter than usual. I'm super duper sorry. But the next chapter will be doubley long! Yay!**

**Enjoy!**

**-Forbala-**

CHAPTER FOUR: ON THE ROAD AGAIN

Gambit was racing Sabretooth to get to Rogue. She lay prone on the floor, wrapped only in a towel, her hair still dripping from the shower.

Gambit's heart dropped. Sabretooth got to the girl first. But he didn't let it get him down. After all, Rogue was almost naked, and her skin was poison. To kidnap her Sabretooth had to touch her, and that would at least knock him unconscious.

This didn't seem to occur to Sabretooth. He leant down to take the girl, when she suddenly jumped up. She clutched her towel in one hand, to keep it from falling off, and with the other she punched Sabretooth in the diaphragm. He bent double and groaned. Gambit dashed into his room and grabbed his bow staff. When he returned, Rogue was attempting to dodge Sabretooth and keep her towel on, while the feral man was lunging (quite stupidly) at her, bare hands outstretched.

_Smack!_

Gambit hit Sabretooth over the head with his extended bowstaff and the feral man staggered, letting go of Rogue's hair. Sabretooth turned to face Gambit and the thief used his bowstaff to hit the wild man's shoulders, hips, knees, head, and junk, then pushed him back in the stomach. It was a Tai Kwon Do move he'd leanred, and it was highly effective.

"Grab 'im, _chere_," Gambit said, smacking Sabretooth once more in the head. Rogue stretched out her free hand and held onto her enemy's face for several long seconds, until he collapsed on the floor, immobile. Gambit looked up at her, eyes moving up her bare legs, up the towel draping over her, up her bare neck, and to her soft face. Her cheeks were flushed from the adrenaline, her (mostly) dark hair mussed but still beautiful. He looked into her emerald green eyes and saw the fire there.

He also saw fear and worry.

He kicked into survival mode again and told Rogue to get dressed and get her things, while he did the same. Moments later, they met again in the front room, fully dressed and carrying all their things. Rogue was wearing a dark blue knit sweater that made her fair skin glow and her hair was still wet. Gambit grabbed her gloved hand and led her to the staircase, down nine floors, and out the front door without checking out of the hotel.

"We need to disappear completely, _chere_," he said as he gunned the car to life. "I know a man who can give us new faces. We got t' get to New Orleans."

"Gambit?" Rogue asked over the roaring wind—they were _way_ speeding, even for the highway. "You think it's safe to call Logan?"

"I don' know, _chere_. We need t' hide somet'ing fierce."

"I just want him to know I'm okay."

Gambit looked at her briefly, then sighed. "Okay, okay. One quick phone call."

Rogue smiled and pulled her cell phone from her bag, pulling up Logan's number immediately on speed dial.

"Rogue?" The voice that picked up was fierce and on the edge of rage, but Rogue could also hear the concern in it. And it was definitely Logan.

"Hey, Logan," she responded timidly. Boy, was he going to chew _her_ out. "I'm okay."

"Ya damn well better be, Stripes! Where the hell have you been? We've been worried sick! Mystique and Sabretooth have both broken in looking for you. What the hell have you gotten yourself into?" he ranted.

"I don't know, Logan. I'm on the run and this is probably the last time I'll call you for a while. I just wanted to let you know I'm okay. Gambit's takin' good care of me."

"The Cajun? Dammit, I'll rip his fucking head off! How dare he kidnap you again! Tell me where you are and I'll be there as soon as possible."

"No, Logan. I can't get you involved. I'll call you as soon as it's safe. I promise."

"Rogue—!" But the line was already dead.

"Y' know we need t' get rid o' dat, _chere_. Dey can track us."

"Oh, yeah. I guess you're right," she said despondently. She pulled a pen and paper from her backpack and scribbled down a few important numbers, shoved the paper in her bag, then tossed the phone out of the car. "_Adios_, technology."

X

Logan ran into Professor X's office and slammed his phone on the table. "She called me, Chuck. I almost had her."

"What did she say?" Professor X asked, looking up from his papers.

"She's okay—thank god—and that the damned Cajun is 'takin' good care of her.' Dammnit! He had to have forced her."

"Did she sound distressed? Did she use any emergency words?"

"Well, no, but Chuck! She wouldn't go with her willingly!"

"We can only assume she went willingly. She obviously packed a bag before leaving, and it's not odd that she would go with him. He is the only person who doesn't seem to care about her dangerous powers and shows romantic interest in her regardless. It is only natural that she would feel a connection with him."

"This ain't right, Chuck. We have to go find her. She's in trouble."

"She apparently does not want to be found, Logan. You have to accept that possibility. And if she doesn't want to be found, we won't be able to find her."

Logan roared and stormed out.

_Well, that went well,_ Charles Xavier thought.

X

Gambit and Rogue walked onto the bright street in downtown Atlanta. They had been in a salon and now looked quite different. Rogue had gotten extensions until her hair could grow out naturally, but had left her white streaks at chin-length to frame her face, at Gambit's suggestion.

As for Gambit, he had shaved his face and gotten a close hair cut, much to both his and Rogue's dismay. After the salon they went shopping, and then it was time for their final trip.

"Gambit, are you sure this guy is trustworthy?" Rogue asked as they approached a sketchy apartment building.

"Well, as much as can be expected, _chere_. But he knows I can hurt him in the worst ways. I doubt he'll try an' cross us."

Rogue grabbed hold of Gambit's arm instinctively, nervous as she was, and Gambit smiled with genuine happiness. Even through her gloves and his sleeves, it was a touch. Gambit could handle that for now.


	5. Acclimating

**Haha, wow, jeez. I know it's been a while, and I'm so sorry, but I've only just begun recover from exams and jazz. Also my internet's down, so I really have nothing else to do. Sadly, not in time for Christmas, but in time for New Year's, at least there's that. Sorry for keeping y'all waiting. Again.**

**Also, here's a little game I'd like to propose. Anyone who can guess the four (?) reasons behind the name change (I won't tell you which name), gets 1000 Dan Points (as in Dan Bergstein, Blogging Twilight). Anyone who can get three gets 700 Dan Points, two gets 500 Dan Points, and one gets 300 Dan Points. As for the other two names, you get 100 points for any insight into those, but they're not nearly as fun as the first.**

**Final note: I have made a slight edit to the last chapter, because I was dying inside over Gambit's hair. It was just…not okay. So I changed it. FYI.**

**Enjoy!**

**-Forbala-**

CHAPTER FIVE: ACCLIMATING

Gambit led his sweet Southern Belle into the dingy apartment building. It smelled of sewage and god-knows-what. There were cockroaches, spiders, bugs, and possibly a rat. Everything was dirty and even the smell seemed _brown_. Cringing, they went up the creaky staircase, and to apartment 3B.

_Knock, knock._

The door opened to reveal a stocky man who, despite his complete lack of hygiene, could actually be quite handsome.

"What the hell—oh! Hey, Etienne, how are ya, buddy?"

"Cut the crap, Basil," Gambit said, pushing his way into the apartment, keeping Rogue close. He peeled her hand from his arm and stood in front of her. "We need completely new identities, an' you're gon' give 'em t' us. Cheap."

"Well, I dunno, Etienne, the cops have been really pressing in. It's been difficult t—"

"Y' gon' do it, or _ma belle ami_ here will jus' have t'…_coerce_ you." Rogue, taking the queue, cracked her fingers and pulled off one glove. This Basil guy didn't know of her power, but he knew Gambit's and the assumption was, she was dangerous.

It was effective. Basil sighed and led them into the next room. There was a desktop computer and a small photo studio—a white backdrop, stool, semi-professional camera, and a photo light.

"Go on ahead and sit down, miss. Right there." He sat at the computer desk and opened up a program, messed with a few things, and then went to the camera. "A'ight, now smile pretty." A bright flash went off and Basil returned to the computer. Typing, typing. "C'mere, pretty, whad'ya think?"

"That's fine," Rogue said, looking at the photo.

"What do you want your name as?"

Rogue thought for a minute. She couldn't go by Anna Marie Darkholme—her human name. "I don't know. What do you think, Swamp Rat?"

"How about Marielle, _chere_?"

"Okay, Marielle Logan."

"_Non_, Marielle Picard. I'll be Raoul Picard. Logan can be her maiden name." Rogue looked at Gambit sharply, but said nothing.

"A'ight. Go sit down, Etienne, and we'll be done." Remy put in a pair of blue contacts and after his photo was taken, Basil said, "Okay, now I need y'all's birthdays and birthplaces."

"My birthday's 8/26/93," Rogue said. "Let's say I'm born in…Sumner, Mississippi."

"I'll be born July 15, 1989, in Bowling Green, Kentucky."

"Hon, if you're from Kentucky, you need to fix that tell-tale Cajun accent," Rogue said.

"_Non, chere,_ I spent mos' my life in France with my parents," he said, smiling.

"You still sound undoubtedly Cajun."

Now the thief frowned. "Fine. I'm from New Orleans den. Happy?"

Rogue nodded and Basil at last printed off their new driver's licenses, birth certificates, and Social Security Cards.

"How's dat, Marielle?" Gambit, or Raoul, asked, showing his license to her.

"Well, I guess that's as good as it's gonna get, Swamp Rat," Marielle teased. Raoul made a face, but turned to Basil. They argued over the price, getting quite heated at one point, but finally (after a few stern words from Momma Marielle), they stopped arguing and money changed hands.

Gambit and Rogue descended the stairs and left the nasty apartment building.

"So, _Raoul_, where do we go now?"

"Now? We need to make another pit stop. We can't go driving around in the Morgan, too many people know me with it. We need a new car."

They hopped in the Morgan and drove to a bank on the other side of town. "What're we doing here?" Rogue asked.

"We need a bank account, _chere_." They went inside, set up a joint account, and transferred quite an impressive load of cash into it. They also applied for a credit card.

After that, they went to a foreign car dealership nearby. They parked and began to walk around, looking at Mercedes, Porsches, Lamborghinis, Ferraris, Jaguars…. Before long a salesman found them.

"Good afternoon, sir. My name is Benny Washburne, nice to see you here."

"Raoul Picard, _c'est un plaisir_. This is my wife, Marielle."

"Are you looking for anything specific, Mr. Picard?" Benny asked, leaning on a black Mercedes.

"We're not looking for anything particular, are we, _chere_?" Gambit asked. "I just want somet'ing…_je ne sais pas_…flashy."

"Oh, hush. We want a _good_ car."

"Well, the Mercedes is a great car. It's beautiful and it runs like a dream."

"I don' know," Gambit said. "Too many people have a Mercedes."

"Ah, so you want something a bit more unique, then," Benny said. He led them through the parking lot and into the showroom. "You'll want to see our more exclusive collection, then. Tell me, what is your budget?"

"Oh, none," Gambit said, grinning. Rogue smacked his arm.

"We're not looking to spend a dang fortune."

"Yes, we are."

"Shut up. You can't go spending all our money on a car, Gam—er, Raoul."

"_Mais cher, tu ne veux pas une voiture aussi belle que vous êtes?_"*

"Don't try to flatter me into submission."

"How about we discuss prices later?" interjected Benny. "Can I get y'all a drink? We have coffee, sweet tea, water, and coke."

"I'll have a sweet tea, thank you," Rogue said.

"Coke," Gambit said without looking at the salesman. He pulled Rogue to him, intending to kiss her forehead, but she stopped him with a gloved hand on his mouth—however, she did not pull away from him.

"I doubt they'd take kindly to you collapsing in the middle of their showroom, Swamp Rat."

"I'm gettin' ready to spend a very large amount of money. They'll let me do whatever I want, _chere_."

Rogue did pull away, now, and she began to wander the showroom, Gambit in tow, watching her ass the whole way.

"Oh my god," she breathed. "Look at this one—Raoul."

"Tha's a fine car, _chere_. I like it."

"It's an Aston Martin, of course you like it." It was an Aston Martin V8 Vantage N420 coupe in black and Rogue was in love.

Gambit opened the door. "Two leather seats, luxury interior. Driver on de right."

"It's British." Rogue looked inside too, and after only a few moments of admiration, she opened the hood and went to examine the engine. "Engine's perfect. Oh wow, this thing must run like a dream!"

"Pardon me, Mrs. Picard?" Benny asked, reappearing beside her. "We don't normally let customers fiddle with the engine."

"Oh, I'm sorry," she said, closing the hood. "I didn't think, I just got excited. I've never seen an Aston Martin before."

"You seem to know your way around the engine, regardless," Benny said, passing the "couple" their drinks.

"Yeah, uh, my dad taught me all about cars and engines."

"Is he a mechanic?"

"Not by trade, but he improves every car and motorcycle we ever got. We've never had to go to mechanics because he fixes everything himself."

"Well, Mrs. Picard—"

"Please, call me Marielle." Rogue glanced briefly at Gambit, who was pouting, and she had to hide a smile.

"Marielle, then, I think this may be the car for you. You've seen she's got a powerful engine, and a hot little number to boot. I think you'll both enjoy this quite a lot."

They test drove the car, and then went to Benny's office to buy that N420.

"Thank you, Mr. and Mrs. Picard. I hope you'll really love your new car. Have a great day, folks," Benny said, handing over the keys.

Rogue drove the Aston Martin while Gambit drove his most beloved Morgan to a storage locker.

"Gambit—"

"_Chere_, we need to call each oder by our new names."

"Fine, Raoul. Is it really okay to be spending so much money? I mean, hell, we could've just gotten a Honda—it certainly blends in better—and the storage locker…"

"What would you have us do with the car that is in my real name? Bring it along with us?"

"Well, yeah, I guess that's true. But did we really need such an expensive car?"

"Yes," Gambit said, completely serious. He honestly didn't see the problem.

Rogue sighed and mumbled to herself. "You sure do love your luxuries, don't you? Next thing I know, you'll be buying a big ole house."

Gambit smirked. Maybe he ought to wait a little while on the house, then.

"Awright, _chere_, let's get dis show on de road."

"Where are we going now?" she asked, sliding into the passenger seat.

"I have no idea!"

_**Mais cher, tu ne veux pas une voiture aussi belle que vous êtes?**_** = But dear, don't you want a car as beautiful as you are?**

**Again, sorry it took so long. But look! Look how long it is! I'm sorry, please don't hurt me T_T**


	6. Relocation

**Hello, my lovely darlings! I hope you've all had great holidays and all that jazz. Anyhoozawhatzit, here's the next chapter. And look! Only like, two days after the previous chapter! I know not much happens here, but I'm very proud of myself. Also, the contest from last chapter is still in play, so, keep thinking about that.**

**Enjoy!**

**-Forbala-**

CHAPTER SIX: RELOCATION

They had been on the road for over an hour, going northeast, when Rogue finally asked, "Where are we going?"

"We're going to Charleston until I can arrange a more permanent location."

"For how long?"

"A few days. A week at most."

"Should we maybe head someplace, y'know, out of the southeast? Being as we're both from the South, that's the most likely place."

"_Oui_, but it's only been _une semaine_ an' we've already been t' several states, an' nowhere fo' very long. Remy's got a safe house in Charleston—no hotels—so we should be safe fo' a while."

Rogue accepted his answer. If Remy—er, Gambit. Why had she used his first name? If _Gambit _said it was safe, then it was. She looked out the window at the passing scenery. She was far more comfortable—what with the new identities—than she had been yesterday, for example, when they'd been attacked by Sabretooth. Was it only yesterday? It seemed like so much longer, so much had happened.

Five hours later, it was well into the night and they stopped at a roadside hotel to rest—with the new credit card for Raoul Picard. Once they were inside the room (another single bed. Hm.), Rogue went straight to the bathroom to shower and change. When she emerged, Gambit was speaking rapidly in French over the phone.

"_Non, non, je n'ai pas besoin d'un h__ô__tel. J'ai besoin d'une residence permanente. Un appartement ou quelque chose. Location ouais c'est tr__è__s bien._"*

"Who are you talking to?" Rogue asked softly, toweling her hair and looking over his shoulder at notes written in Frenglish.

Gambit continued talking scribbled onto the pad of paper: _Contact in Europe._ Rogue nodded and then it hit her—_une residence permanente_, a contact in Europe. Oh good Lord, they were going to Europe! Not just Europe—France! Rogue had always wanted to travel, and _France_ was one of the ultimate travel spots.

Rogue was so excited that she squealed and threw her (covered) arms around Gambit's neck. "Thank you, thank you!" she said quietly, but in a much higher register than usual.

Gambit froze in surprise—Rogue was hugging him. Sure, he was taking her to Europe, but _she was hugging him_.

"_Excusez-moi juste un instant s'il vous pla__î__t_," he told his contact. He put the phone down on the desk and looked up at the girl. "What's all dis, _chere_?"

"We're going to Europe!" She was grinning widely and then she began to realize what she'd done and tried to pull back, but before she could, Gambit swooped in and kissed her.

Rogue pulled back—and then realized that Gambit was still conscious. "What the hell?" she screeched, about both the kiss and Gambit's consciousness. Okay, granted, he looked dizzy and kind of out of it, but he was conscious and smiling.

"Remy had an idea. An' it worked." He put a hand to his head. "Not perfectly, but it worked. Hol' on _un instant_ so I can finish dis." He picked up the phone and spoke in rapid French again.

Rogue put her fingers to her lips and sat back on the floor, too surprised to smack Gambit for either kissing her or blowing her off for a damned phone call afterwards. But Gambit finished quickly, with an _I'll call you tomorrow_ in French, and he turned to the surprised girl.

"Y' all right, _chere_?"

"How did you do that?" she demanded, recovering at the sound of his voice.

"Well, _chere_, y' were bein' so nice t' dis poor ole thief, he jus' had t' kiss y'."

"But _how did you do that_?"

"Well, y' take energy right? Well I control energy. I concentrated energy on my lips for y' t' absorb. How'd it work?"

"I…I can still feel you in my head, but…but it's quieter than normal absorption."

"An' Remy still conscious. So it worked."

After a long moment, Rogue said quietly, "You're Raoul now." Then she jumped up and dove under the bedcovers.

Raoul smiled softly.

_Non, non, je n'ai pas besoin d'un h__ô__tel. J'ai besoin d'une residence permanente. Un appartement ou quelque chose. Location ouais c'est tr__è__s bien _= No, no, I don't need a hotel. I need a permanent residence. An apartment or something. Yeah, renting is fine.


	7. Airport

**Oh my GOD, I'm SO sorry for the long wait, dear readers. I've had a hell of a month going back to school. Everything was going wrong for a while there. But it's getting better, so that's good. Anyway, here is the next chapter about everyone's favourite couple!**

**Enjoy!**

**-Forbala-**

CHAPTER SEVEN: AIRPORT

The next day they made it to Charleston and to Gambit's safe house, in a shady part of town, where he called his European contact again. Rogue tuned out the conversation. She was going to Europe. Gambit would keep her safe. She didn't care about much else at the moment. Instead, she spent the day working on their car, checking the condition, improving its run, and adding a few special modifications. Some of which weren't entirely legal, but not especially dangerous, so Rogue didn't care.

They only spent two days in the safe house in Charleston. When Rogue—Marielle—had come in from working on the car, covered in engine grease, Gambit—Raoul—had nearly jumped her. The little black oil spots on her arms and hands and face and neck, on her shirt, smears on her jeans from where she'd wiped her hands to get the grease off, totally uselessly. Her hair was mussed and some strands were stiff from dry grease.

"Y' awful dirty, _chere_," Gambit commented, looking up from his magazine.

"Shut up," was all she said. She went into the tiny bathroom and washed up as well as she could, scrubbing at her hands for a good two minutes, and brushing through her hair with much difficulty and many grunts of effort. At last, when she had determined she was tolerable, she came back into the living room/kitchen/bedroom and sat on the desk.

"So," she said, immediately getting Gambit's full attention—she didn't know, but she'd already had it. "Where exactly are we going? And when?"

"We leave on Tuesday. As for where, allow a poor thief his secrets, _chere_. Y'll find out soon enough."

"I want to know now," she said, just barely restraining herself from whining like a sleepy child.

Remy cocked one eyebrow. He thought he would rather have liked to hear her whine. Or plead. Or beg. Beg for him, beg for him to take her.

"Yo, Swamp Rat," she said, snapping her fingers in his face. "Stop leering and tell me where we're going."

"Mm, _non_, don' t'ink so."

Rogue was growing annoyed, but she didn't let it show on her face. Instead, she leaned close to Gambit—_Raoul_, she corrected—and said softly, "Won't you tell me, sugar? I'd really love to know."

Remy gulped hard. She was so close he could almost taste her, but he knew what she was up to. That didn't mean he wouldn't play along, of course.

"What does Remy get if he tells y'?" he asked, just as softly.

"I think you know."

"Mm, Remy thinks he does." He concentrated very hard and, focusing almost all of his kinetic energy on his lips, leaned in.

As he expected, Rogue pulled back, a slight flash of fear in her eyes—fear that she would like it, he knew. "Not until you tell me where we're going," she said breathlessly, her voice quavering just a bit.

Gambit stood. "Oh, well. Remy can wait. He's very patient, _chere_."

Rogue stood as well, anger lighting her beautiful face. God, but she was so gorgeous when she was angry or annoyed with him. "Dammit, Remy! Where are we going? Paris? Versailles? Marseille?"

"Y'll get not a word out a dis thief," he teased with a wink and a crooked grin. Rogue made a noise of annoyance and disappeared into the bathroom, slamming the door behind her.

Gambit smiled and collapsed back into his chair. He had just about pulled her to him and held her and kissed her breathless, not to mention spoiled the surprise for her. That wouldn't do. She would find out in two days anyway.

The next day, they ventured into town and bought simple gold wedding bands. Remy almost snogged his "wife" right there in the jewelry store, he was so happy. Even if it was a fake marriage, it was a fake marriage to _Rogue_.

The girl had taken on a strange look when she'd slipped on the ring. Remy hoped it was happy, whatever the expression meant. He was almost sure it was—he was pretty damned confident in himself, a truly cocky son of a bitch—but with Rogue he always had doubts. She was his exception. She was his exception and he loved it. He wanted to be with her forever. She may not believe him, but it was true. And one day, he would have her.

Rogue tried again over those two days to get their new location from him, but with no success. He had nearly crumbled; she had tried seduction and demands and threats, and all drove him mad with love and lust for her. She didn't seem to notice, luckily or not.

And at last, the day arrived when they took a cab to the airport (the Aston Martin was being ferried across the Atlantic and had shipped out the day before). Rogue was nearly bouncing with excitement. Gambit refused to show her the tickets, but she could hardly worry about _where_. She was just happy they were going.

Only one thing was hindering her excitement.

She missed her dad, that is, Logan. He was the only dad she had really ever know, and she felt like the most awful person leaving him to go gallivanting off in Europe. She knew he was worried sick and probably tearing up the northeast, the South, and anyone he could get to in an attempt to find her. Perhaps he soon would. She didn't know. She didn't know if she wanted him to.

_No, don't think about it,_ she told herself. This was for the best. Perhaps, someday soon, she could return to him and the other X-Men. Not now, but soon.

They went into the airport and checked in at the computers. They had no luggage to check—only two backpacks and a medium-sized duffel between the two of them—so they needn't go to the counter. Gambit made sure to hide the tickets from his _belle fille_'s prying eyes while he checked in. If he could help it, she wouldn't find out their location until they landed. He knew that was impossible, put he was going to push it as far as he could.

They went to stand in the security line, passports in hand. Gambit was not comfortable going through security—he avoided airports whenever possible for that reason—but there was little other way to get to his destination. This was most assuredly the easiest and quickest way.

Remy handed his passport and ticket to the security guard, who check both and nodded him to continue.

"My wife and I," he said, gesturing to Rogue, "are on honeymoon, and I want it t' be a surprise. Can I hand you her ticket and you not show it to her?" He smiled pleasantly, and Rogue could see he was using his mutant charm on the poor woman. Predictably, the woman complied and took the ticket from Gambit and Rogue's passport from his "wife," examined both, then passed the couple on.

They arrived at their gate and sat down to wait until they were called to board.

"Rem—er, Raoul," Rogue said.

He hoped she wouldn't ask where they were going again. "_Oui, chere?_"

"Where are we—?"

"_Non_. Don' finish dat. If y' ask me one more time where we goin', Raoul will leave y' here."

Rogue slumped down in her seat. Moments later, she recovered, straightened up, and addressed him again.

"Y' better not ask where we goin," he warned.

"Do you think…do you think I'm right to do this?" she asked, her voice so soft he could barely hear.

"T' do what, _chere_?" he asked, leaning forward to see her downcast face.

"To leave. Leave Logan, the X-Men, America. The X-Men are the only family I've ever known, and as obnoxious and dysfunctional as they are…I love them. Logan will be so mad when we come back. I wonder if he'll ever forgive me?"

"Don' talk like dat, _ma fille douce_. Remember Magneto? Wants t' kidnap y'? It's only safe to get far away from him and his influence."

"But…couldn't we stay at the X-Mansion and fight, like we always do?"

"He won't stop chasin' y' even if y' fight." Gambit hated, _hated_ to see her so down, so…scared. Despite all her brave façades and words, despite her aggression and badass attitude, she was scared. Terrified. And he could barely stand it. He just wanted to hold her and kiss her and make it all better. He looked at her hands clasped in her lap and longed to reach out and grab them, kiss each little fingertip, stroke the pale, soft skin there.

But he couldn't. Besides passing out in the middle of a busy airport, it would scare her away from him. He couldn't stand it if she were afraid of him.

And so he wisely kept his hands to himself.

"I just…." Rogue sniffled and Gambit realized she was crying. After a moment of internal war, he put his hand on her shoulder, gently.

"_Fille douce_, look at me." When she didn't, he knelt on the ground before her and held her chin. "Look at me, _chere_. You will be safe. You will be happy. You will return t' the X-Men as soon as possible. I swear. I swear by anything you want me to swear by. _Everything will work out_."

Rogue sniffled again and croaked through the tears clogging her throat and slipping quietly down her cheeks, "You're not speaking in the third person."

"_Non_. Whatever you need, I will give you. After all, _chere_, isn't that what it says on our marriage certificate?" he teased, squeezing her gloved hand. That made her smile ruefully and scoff. Good.

"Whatever, dumbass," she retorted, wiping at her face and pushing him away.

She was back to insulting him. She would be okay. _Merci Deu_.

"We are now boarding zones two and three," a woman's voice announced over a localized speaker. "Zones two and three for flight 5698 to Paris, France, now boarding."

_Mierde_. Rogue was one step closer to guessing his surprise. Although she thought the surprise was Paris, so at least that threw her off.

"Paris!" Rogue gasped. She leaped from her seat, wiped at her face again, grabbed up her backpack, and trotted to get in the boarding line. Gambit smiled, grabbed his bags, and sidled up beside her.

**Look! Look how gloriously long it is! I didn't even **_**notice**_** it was going on so long! Wow!**

**Until next time, readers! I promise it won't be another month (don't hurt me).**


	8. Train

**Bonjour! I'm glad to hear how much y'all are enjoying this. I'm also gald that no one has threatened me for not updating regularly. Thank you for that. From here on out, Rogue will be referred to almost exclusively as Marielle, and Gambit as either Raoul or Remy, but mostly Raoul. Just FYI.**

**Also, English speech written in quotes and italicized (**"_Why do you think I have this outrageous accent?_"**)** **means that the words are spoken in French but neither you nor I speak halfway enough French for me to write it. Also, I'm lazy. And I won't be translating **_chere_** ever, even if he's speaking French, because it's way cuter in French and I can't bear to translate it. It loses all the Cajun Charm.**

**Enjoy!**

**-Forbala-**

CHAPTER EIGHT: TRAIN

The Wolverine was in Atlanta. He had, at long last, tracked Rogue to Atlanta. He figured, if they hadn't already, they would have gotten new appearances, and so he went to every salon he could find. Finally, one woman said she had put extensions on a beautiful girl with white highlights who was accompanied by a handsome man. _Finally_. Wolverine asked after them, but the woman knew nothing else. They had paid in cash and hadn't used real names—just Swamp Rat and _chere_. Wolverine cursed. "They have to make my job harder."

X

The flight to Paris was long and both Marielle and Raoul had to walk around the plane more than once to keep their ankles from swelling and to keep from going mad. They had no idea what time it was at home, nor what the time was in Paris. They slept sporadically and ate when they were hungry. When, at long last, the captain announced that they were entering Parisian airspace and it was just past nine in the morning, Rogue immediately packed up her backpack and could barely tolerate the next twenty minutes of vectoring and taxiing. She unbuckled her seatbelt _the moment_ the wheels hit the runway. She was one of the first people in the aisle, even though she wasn't on an aisle seat: she had quite literally climbed over Raoul, ignoring the physical and sexual discomfort it caused him.

Raoul was anxious, too, but he hid it quite a bit better than his _chere_. After he got a heel to the thigh and a perfectly curved rear end briefly brushed against his groin, he unbuckled his seatbelt, pulled on his backpack, and got the duffel out of the overhead storage bin.

"Come _on_, Raoul!" Marielle called over her shoulder, already several rows down the aisle, which was now crowded with people.

He sighed and smiled. He was glad she was so excited and happy again. She was acting like a little kid. It was adorable.

"_Perdonez-moi, perdon, perdonez-moi_," he said, pushing through people to catch up with his _fille_. "_Elle est ma __é__spouse_."

He at last pushed enough people out of the way to reach Marielle, taking her gloved hand in his so he wouldn't be separated from her again. And also just to hold her hand. It was a testament to her excitement that she didn't pull away for almost a full minute.

When they had left the plane and gone through customs, they took their bags and boarded a bus. "Where are we staying?" Marielle asked excitedly.

"_I think we should keep our conversations in French from now on, ma chere_."

"_Okay, then where are we staying? Will we be near the Rhine, or the Eiffel Tower, or the Arc de Triumph? Will we see the Louvre? Or will we be further out?_" she asked, impatient and almost bouncing in her seat.

"_No, we're not staying Paris. We'll come back and tour it, but we have to get to our new place as soon as possible._"

Marielle visibly deflated and Raoul laughed. She ignored him by looking out the window, but couldn't refrain from babbling excitedly about what she saw. "Oh my god, look at that! It's so beautiful! Look over there! Wow, it's so old!" Raoul smiled softly at her excitement. He was glad she was so happy, that _he'd_ made her so happy. He put his hand on her knee and she smacked it away without even looking at him, making him chuckle again.

They arrived at the train station and Raoul had to fight Marielle to get her inside. He'd had to slide up close to her, wrap an arm around her waist and his body around hers, and whisper inappropriate things in French. She had been so surprised (and turned on, he told himself) that she had frozen. He threw her over his shoulder and carried her into the station.

Then she kept trying to peek when he bought their tickets. He turned to her. "Marielle, if y' keep peeking it won't be a surprise when we get dere. Y' don't wanna ruin all Raoul's hard word, _non_?"

"Come on, just tell me! We'll be there soon anyway!"

"_No, I'm not telling. We'll be there soon anyway_," he retorted, smirking when she flushed angrily. She was acting like a petulant child and Roaul thought it was both adorable and hilarious. Also, a bit sexy. But he always thought she was sexy.

Marielle, meanwhile, was pissed that he was keeping their new location so secret. How much would it hurt to just _fricking tell her_? And even though she knew he was doing it all on purpose, just to get a rise our of her, she couldn't help it. She wanted to stay in Paris and see the Louvre and all the sights and art and people. She wanted to go driving through the countryside. Logical Rogue told her that wherever they were going would be just as spectacular—Remy had a flare for the dramatic, after all—but Logical Rogue was difficult to hear over Remy-LeBeau-Needs-To-Stop-Being-A-Dick Rogue. That Rogue was a lot louder.

He had gone so far as to trip her to the floor while he whispered their destination to the teller. Dick. By the time she had gotten to her feet again, the train tickets were already tucked safely into his pocket, and there was no way even Rogue could pick a master pickpocket like Gambit.

And so Marielle sat, despondent and angry, at a small restaurant in the station, Raoul opposite her. It was her first taste of French food, and her bad mood was quickly lifted again by her excitement and the marvelous taste of the food. It was simple and cheap, but it was still fantastic and _French_. After a couple hours, Raoul looked at his watch, which Marielle felt sure she had never seen before, and announced it was time for them to go to the platform.

"_Where did you get that watch?_" she asked as she threw her trash away.

"_Oh, this? It's nothing, chere, just a trinket Raoul picked up,_" he smiled mischievously. Marielle looked at him suspiciously and he chuckled and put an arm around her, which she promptly slapped away.

"_Keep your hands to yourself, _you idiot perverted thief," she snapped and, though he saw her cheeks were a little pink and he knew she didn't mean it, he put his hands obediently in his pockets.

They sat in a plush little train car, their bags on a shelf above their heads. As the train pulled out of the station and started through the city, Marielle, sat on her knees on the bench and watched the city fly by through the window, a bright grin on her face. Raoul watched her more than the city, although it was beautiful. It was simply a thing, though, a bunch of buildings and people. Marielle, his Rogue, his _belle chere_ was more beautiful than all the great European cities and countrysides combined.

Raoul looked down at his watch, which he had picked off a French businessman. Rogue always could see through him. It read 11:15. He knew it would be at least seven before they reached their destination. Now, what could he do in eight hours to entertain himself without being thrown off a moving train?

He looked at Marielle again. She was ignoring him and had her face a mere two inches from the window, watching the city turn into country. She wouldn't notice now if he blew up the train itself.

So he got up and sat on the bench with her. As he thought, she was too engrossed in the beauty of France to notice him. He leaned over, curling his body around hers, his lips beside her ear, one hand on her hip, and as much energy as he could muster focused on his lips. He kissed her ear, letting her skin absorb the energy he provided.

She whirled around in shock and smacked her head on the back of the window. He smiled at her. He wasn't as dizzy as he had been the first time he'd tried that—this was less a kiss and more a brushing of lips on skin. He was a bit lightheaded, but not enough to warrant notice.

"Dammit, Re…Raoul! Why are doing that?"

"The way you move ain't fair, you know."

"What?"

"I don't wanna miss a single thing you do tonight."

"Are you quoting that Train song?"

"_Oui_."

"Well, don't! And don't touch me. You're gonna pass out and _I'm _gonna have to clean it up!" she snapped, but her voice was shaky and her cheeks were red. Oh, yeah, she loved it.

"_Come on, chere, Raoul knows you love it._"

"Do not!"

"_Do too_."

"_Do not!"_

"Do too."

"No _I don't_! Ah, god, stop switching! It's confusing me."

"I'll only stop ifyou_ confess you like it_."

"I like nothing you do."

"_You like it when I _kiss you. You like it when I _hold you and whisper in your ear_."

Marielle blushed all over her neck and ears and even down her neck and into her shirt. Raoul followed the blush with his eyes, wishing he could see and touch the undoubtedly soft skin beneath that thin cotton shirt, which clung to her body as if it were part of her skin and only accented her finer physical features.

"Raoul! Stop staring!"

He jerked his eyes up to her lips, soft and pink and perfectly kissable. Unconsciously he leaned in, but was stopped when Marielle's gloved hand pushed against his chest. She quickly retracted the hand, and Raoul felt certain he knew why: he was toned and chiseled like a Greek statue with just enough definition to be breathtakingly hot. His pecs, where Marielle's hand had landed, were hard and smooth beneath his shirt. Marielle's blush deepened and she turned back to the window, muttering and stuttering.

"Just…go back to your own bench," she grumbled. Raoul ignored her and opened a book, sitting almost flush beside her.


	9. Tarot Cards

**At last, we **_**finally**_** come to ROMY's new home. Where is it, you ask? Where in good God's name has this insane author been leading us for three chapters? Read on and find out!**

**Also, I feel like this chapter is really awkward or awkwardly written. I'm not sure what's wrong with it though. If you tell me, I'll be happy to edit it. I worked really hard on the tarot readings too. That was fun. **

**Enjoy!**

**-Forbala-**

CHAPTER NINE: TAROT CARDS

The Wolverine was getting closer.

They had changed their appearances in Atlanta and it would make sense that they got new ideas in the same city. He knew they were running from him. What he didn't know was if Stripes was willingly running, or if she had been kidnapped again by that damned Cajun.

Chuck had asked and even begged Logan not to chase them, telling him to listen to reason, that Rogue was okay and she didn't want to be found.

"And how do you know that, Chuck?"

"She's given us no indication otherwise," the Professor had said. But there was a mystery in his eyes. Logan knew he was hiding something. He bet Chuck had used Cerebro to track Rogue and reach into her head, and though Logan pushed, the Professor had not yielded. So Logan had growled and stormed out.

And now Wolverine was dressed in jeans and a sweatshirt and hiding out in the slums of Atlanta. He stopped anyone who passed and asked where he could get a fake ID. Some didn't answer at first. All of them answered fifteen seconds later.

So he was roaming Atlanta in the middle of the night, stalking everyone who had ever made a fake ID and scaring the piss out of all of them. Thus far, none had yielded any information, even after he had banged them up. Now he walked into a dingy apartment building. It smelled of sewage and god-knows-what. There were cockroaches, spiders, bugs, and possibly a rat. Everything was dirty and even the smell seemed _brown_.

X

The long, long, long as _fuck_ train ride went through most of France, further and further south, until Marielle thought they would just keep going south until they drowned in the Mediterranean Sea. But they did eventually shift east, and then Marielle was very confused. Were they going to—she had to bring up a map of Europe in her mind—Italy? Or Germany? But neither person spoke Italian or German, and why would they take a train on such a long-ass ride? No, they had to be staying in France. They both spoke French fluently. It was easy for them to blend.

It was after dark when the train _finally_ stopped. Europeans tended to eat dinner later than Americans and, what with their jetlag, Marielle and Raoul were more than a little hungry and plenty tired.

Raoul had not stopped sexually harassing Marielle throughout the whole ride, under the guise of being an attentive husband. "_Can't let my chere miss out on a single moment of loving,_" he said.

"_Shut up, you danged idiot!_"

But Raoul knew he was getting to her. He hadn't touched her skin again, but he had touched her through her clothes—her hips, her knees, her thighs, arms, and back. He had even sat down on the floor of their car and tried to massage her feet.

"What the hell are you doing?" she asked nervously.

"Massaging your feet."

"Why?"

"Why not?"

She had pulled her feet onto the bench and tried to smack him away until he said, "_Chere_, what harm is there in massaging your feet? Raoul just trying to be nice." She harrumphed and extended her legs again, but she had smacked him when he tried to massage up her ankles and calves.

But they had stopped now. Thank any god that would listen, they had stopped. Entering the station, Marielle saw that the signs were all in French and English. They were clearly in a big tourist location. Was it Marseille? Nice?

But then she got confused when she saw they were in the line for customs. "Where in hell are we?" she asked, looking up at Raoul.

"You'll see in _un moment_."

Marielle sighed loudly and rolled her eyes. Again, Raoul made sure she didn't know their location. Marielle had grown bored of glaring at him.

Yeah, that was a lie.

She glared at Raoul so hard he was beginning to wonder if his head wouldn't explode. But he wouldn't have minded. Even when she hit him and pummeled him and yelled at him, she was sexy and he couldn't get enough. He might be a masochist. She didn't seem to realize that. She didn't seem to realize he actually, truthfully thought her the sexiest woman he'd ever seen. But he would fix that. She would realize it, and he would prove it in any way possible. Even if that meant he was in a coma for the rest of his life. He didn't care.

They walked out of the station and onto a busy street, lit like Christmas in New York. Marielle's eyes widened and her jaw dropped in awe and shock when she read one of the many city signs.

"_Welcome, chere, to Monte Carlo._"

X

"Oh my god. Oh my _god!_"

Marielle was too amazed to say much else. She had never been to Las Vegas, but she knew Monte Carlo was the Las Vegas of Europe, and if Las Vegas was _half_ what Monte Carlo was, it had to be truly incredible.

"_I can assume you're excited, then, chere_?"

Marielle didn't even spare him a "no shit, Sherlock" look. She was too, well, excited. She could only smile. People were _every_where, doing everything. There were street performers and artists, people drunk from too much partying and gambling, people in formal gowns and tuxedos.

They grabbed dinner in a small fast-food restaurant and had barely finished when Marielle raced back into the streets, trying to take in everything.

Suddenly, she grabbed the sleeve of Raoul's trenchcoat and pulled him to a folding table covered in a bright cloth. At the table was a pretty woman with olive skin, bright eyes, and curly dark hair. She wore a purple tunic dress with gold accents and she had a French braid on one side of her head, flowing into the loose strands of her curly mass. She wore eyeshadow and red lipstick and looked like a gypsy.

"Good evening. Would you like me to read your fortune?" the woman asked pleasantly, picking up a deck of cards. She spoke good English but she was clearly French.

"_Yes, absolutely!_" Marielle said.

The woman passed the deck to Marielle and said, in French this time, "_Think of a question and shuffle the cards. You do not have to speak the question aloud_."

Marielle spent a moment thinking of her question, then shuffled the deck, concentrating hard on her question. When she was finished, the gypsy woman began pulling cards from the top of the deck and laying them out: vertical, horizontal atop the first card, vertical above the stacked cards, three more cards clockwise, then four cards to the right, bottom to top.

Marielle watched with curiosity as the woman turned over the first card: a skeletal knight with a white rose flag and corpses. "_You are in the midst of a rebirth. Accept the changes around you_."

_Well, that was freakishly accurate_, Marielle thought.

When the second card was flipped, Marielle saw a young woman holding a lion's head. "_You are lacking self-confidence and feel out of control. Trust yourself._" Card three a corpse riddled with swords. Okay, creepy. "_You fear change and failure. But do not despair; good things may arrive_."

The fourth card showed a goat man lording over two enslaved people. "_Your past was restrictive and based on superficial relationships_."

_No kidding,_ Rogue thought, seeing Mystique's face in her mind.

The woman flipped the next card. A woman tied to swords and blindfolded; it was upside-down. "_Recently your past has haunted you. Be cautious_." The sixth card was a happy couple beneath a winged lion's head. Okay, weird image. "_In the near future you will find romance and a new stage in your relationship_."

Well that didn't please Marielle very much, but glancing at Raoul she saw him smiling. She smacked him in the stomach, but he quickly recovered with that dumbass grin.

Card number seven was a woman holding a sword and dressed in armor. "_You have faced much difficulty in your life, but you press bravely on. Your wits and sharp tongue hide your fears._" Eight: another person surrounded by swords. This woman was crying. "_This is the darkest hour. Things will improve soon_."

Card nine was a young man fending off attackers with a wooden staff. It was curiously reminiscent of a certain Cajun. "_This man battles happily despite unlikely odds. You want to cheer this person on_." Raoul smiled again at that and Marielle elbowed him hard. That card was _clearly_ wrong.

The final card was a happy family beneath—wait for it—a rainbow with golden goblets in it. No joke. "_You will find happiness and domestic peace._"

Marielle seriously doubted that, but whatever. She nodded and thanked the woman.

"_And you, sir? Would you like me to tell your fortune?_" the woman asked as Marielle thought on her results.

"_No, thank you. I make my own fortune_," Raoul said, pulling out his wallet to pay the woman for Marielle's telling.

"_No! Raoul, you have to get your fortune read!_" Marielle said suddenly, snatching his wallet away for some reason.

Raoul looked at her. The telling had seemed to rattle her and he really didn't want to see his own reading, but she wanted to see Raoul's fortune and so he would have his fortune told.

"_Yes, all right then_."

When the first card was turned over, the gypsy woman began to speak.

The card depicted a man rowing a boat to a distant shore, with several upright swords in the prow. "_Your are struggling with a great task, but relief will come soon_." The second car depicted a man looking at three goblets of spilled wine, with two upright goblets behind him. "_You—or perhaps someone near to you—can see only the negative things and cannot see the good things you have._"

The third card was a smiling queen with a large cat in her lap. "_The woman you seek brings light and happiness to those around her._" The next card was a depressed-looking man being offered a goblet from…God? A hand stretched out from the clouds, holding the cup. "_You had a difficult past and became withdrawn._" Next was a large golden goblet in a pond. "_Recently you have found a bright new path, perhaps involving a lover._" The next picture was of a knight holding a large gold coin with a pentacle on it: "_You must take your responsibilities seriously and leave nothing unattended_."

Marielle looked over and saw that Raoul's eyes were dark, but he still wore the mischievous expression he was known for. The seventh card was—that same man from before, fending off attackers with a smile on his face. "_You battle fierce odds but you will be victorious_." Raoul's face lit up so brightly at this that Marielle was stunned and could only think of how handsome he looked when he smiled. She couldn't even remember what he was smiling about.

The next card, eight, was the woman blindfolded and bound and surrounded by swords, only this time it was upright. "_You cannot ignore this situation. You must face it squarely._" Nine was a pair of lovers hugging, observed by an angel. "_You desire love and friendship, a soul mate._" And the tenth card was that damned happy family showing up again. The gypsy's words were almost the same as before: "_You will find peace and happiness and have a happy family life._"

Raoul thanked the gypsy profusely and paid her, giving too much tip, then took Marielle's waist and lead her away. "Come on, _chere_, let's go find our apartment."

"We have an apartment?" she asked, pulling away. She was glad he was happy, but she wished he wouldn't be so hopeful. She understood that reading as well as he, and she knew it could never happen, no matter how hard she wanted it to—er, he. Raoul wanted it. Marielle did not. Not with him.

"_Oui_, of course. And we've a long…however many hours it's been since we left Charleston, and Raoul wants to sleep."

Raoul looked at the address on a slip of paper, asked directions from a policeman outside the Monte Carlo Casino—which was beyond words incredible, by the way. Seriously, Google it—and they walked the few blocks to an apartment complex. They went into the office and found a young man at a desk, reading a magazine. He looked up when they entered, looking bored.

And then his eyes found Marielle and he immediately perked up. _I sure hope they're not siblings_, he thought.

"_Good evening, how may I help you_?" he asked, standing to shake Raoul's hand and kiss Marielle's through her glove. She retracted it quickly and blushed, while Raoul tried very hard not to punch the desk clerk.

He put his arm around Marielle's waist and pulled her close. She blushed and tried weakly to pull away, but Raoul had a tight grip on her and she quickly gave up. "_My wife and I_," he said lightly, though Marielle heard the terseness and anger in his tone, "_have just arrived and would like our keys. My name is Raoul Picard_."

The clerk's face fell at the word "wife." He turned to the computer, pulled up some document or other, turned to a box behind him, and handed over a bronze key. "_You're apartment is 609_," he said despondently.

"_Thank you_," Raoul said. He was about to turn when the desk clerk spoke again.

"_Miss, if there is anything I can do for you, please don't hesitate to let me know_." And then the man had the balls to smile and wink.

Raoul fingered the pack of cards in his pants pocket, then decided against it. It would do no good to blow up the apartment before they had even moved in.

Instead, he said simply, "_Thank you. Mrs. Picard won't need a thing_." Raoul brushed Marielle's hair back and kissed her hard on the lips, almost passing out from the effort. He pulled away at the last moment and walked drunkenly to the elevator, leaning heavily on Marielle, who was flushed and breathing heavily, too shocked and breathless to yell at the thief. Though she did pinch him in the side, he knew it was well worth it.

As the elevator doors began to close, Raoul winked and smirked at the desk clerk.


	10. Poker

**So here's the next chapter. Remy and Rogue get jobs. Teehee.**

**Enjoy!**

**-Forbala-**

CHAPTER TEN: POKER

The apartment was small and simple in the way European homes often are, but it was classic and beautiful, and Marielle knew she could make it cozy in a short time. She almost—_almost_—wished she had Kitty and Jean to help her, but she could do it on her own well enough. To the left was a bedroom and bathroom. To the right was a living room/dining room/kitchenette. Beyond that, another bedroom with an attached bathroom, and across from the entrance was a fair-sized patio. It was small, but more than enough for the two of them. The bedroom to the right—bigger and clearly the master—had direct access to the patio. The only furnishings were appliances, including a stove, refrigerator, and washer/dyrer.

"There aren't any beds. Where are we gonna sleep?" Marielle asked, coming out of one of the bedrooms to meet Raoul in the hall.

"I guess we'll have to improvise," he said, smirking peevishly. Marielle smacked him and told him to shut up and stop being a perv. All he heard was, "Oh, Remy, you're _ever_ so charming!"

So he was a little delusional.

He reached into the duffel and pulled out the only blanket he'd packed. "Sleep wherever you want, _chere_. And if you want Raoul to keep you warm, that's okay too," he said with a little smirk, handing the blanket to Marielle.

She snatched away the blanket and went to the smaller bedroom, but he interrupted her. "Take the master bedroom, _ma belle fille_."

Marielle looked at him for a moment. "It doesn't really matter. They're almost the same size."

"The master has an attached bath. Go on. Call if you need me, _chere_."

With that, Raoul laid down on the floor of the hall, near the front door, using his duffel as a pillow. Marielle looked at him on the floor for several long seconds, feeling guilty for taking the only blanket, but then she decided he'd had more than enough luxuries and flirting for one day, and she disappeared into the bedroom.

The next morning, Marielle woke to see Raoul at the stove, cooking eggs, bacon, and hash browns. She saw a toaster on the counter and smelled biscuits. He'd been busy.

"Morning," Marielle said, looking over his shoulder and breathing deeply the scents of breakfast.

"_Good morning, ma belle fille. How did you sleep_?" Raoul turned from the stove briefly to brush her hair from her face. She pulled away but he wasn't bothered. He turned back to cooking.

"_About as well as can be expected. You weren't too cold out here, were you_?"

"_Would've been better if I'd had you to cuddle with_," he said, turning to her again and placing a hand on her clothed hip. He really loathed those clothes at that moment—she was wearing simple jeans and a t-shirt. It was much to plain for her gorgeous figure.

"_Shut up_." She smacked him and took to walking around the apartment. She could see it better in the daylight. It was cozy and bright; plenty of sun shone in through the sliding glass doors. She went out to the patio, barefoot, and looked at the city. It was warmer than she expected, even at nine in the morning. Of course; they were right on the Mediterranean.

Monte Carlo was classical Europe. She saw the Monte Carlo Casino a few blocks away, and it looked like it could've been a museum or a mansion. It was different from the gaudiness of Las Vegas. She wondered if what happened in Monte Carlo, stayed in Monte Carlo?

She giggled at this as she came back into the apartment and closed the doors. "What are we up to today?" she asked.

"I was thinking we'd look for jobs, then get some furniture for this place. _Oui_?"

"Where were you thinking?"

He smiled like, well, a thief. "The casino, of course."

X

An hour later, they were fed, dressed, and walking to the Monte Carlo Casino. As they walked through the doors and into a grande foyer, Raoul slipped his arm around Marielle and walked confidently up to the front desk. She didn't pull away, though she did stiffen slightly.

"_Good morning, miss. I'm looking for a job in the casino,_" he said to the young woman at the desk.

"_We're not hiring right now, sir_. _I'm sorry._"

"_Ah, but you'll want to hire me. I'm the best poker player there is_."

"_We already have poker players, sir._"

"_None like me_."

"_He's serious, you know,_" Marielle interjected. "_Not that his ego needs more inflating, but he's brilliant._"

"_Right_," Raoul said. "_And I'm going to find whoever hires the gamblers, so you may as well take me to him_."

The young woman looked put out, but picked up the phone and spoke quickly and quietly. "_Monsieur Bonheur will be out shortly._"

Roaul nodded and led Marielle to a plush bench against the wall where they sat and waited and watched the rich people milling about. "This place is nice," he said.

"Yeah, it is. It must cost a fortune to stay here."

"Oh, don't think about money, _chere_. Raoul will take of you."

"Shut up. You sound like Rhett."

A man walked up to them, then, wearing a dark grey business suit, his hair cropped and brushed back. He wore a gilded nametag that read Francis Bonheur and he didn't look very pleased.

Raoul and Marielle stood to meet him. Raoul shook his hand, smiling, and Marielle saw the flicker of red behind his blue contacts that meant he was using his mutant charm. She held back a snort of laughter.

"_Good morning, sir, my name is Raoul Picard. I'm looking for a job in your fine casino._"

"_I'm sure you are, Monsieur Picard, but we aren't hiring._"

"_That pretty girl at the counter may have told you I'm the best poker player you'll ever see. I'll rake in money by the barrel._"

"_That may be so, but we're not hiring,_" Monsieur Bonheur said again.

"_Let me play one game, and I'll show you why you need me in your casino._"

Bonheur sighed and, after a moment, said, "_Fine. One game. You better not be wasting my time_." Bonheur turned and began walking to a large archway leading to the casino.

Raoul kissed Marielle's hair and said, "I'll see you in an hour_, chere_, and then we can go shopping for the apartment." Then he followed Bonheur into the casino and disappeared from Marielle's sight.

She looked around the hotel. It was big and luxurious and not very crowded, as it was still fairly early for vacationers. What would she do while she waited for Gamb—Raoul?

_Well, I need a job, too_, she thought. _May as well start looking here_.

Marielle went up to the front desk, where the same girl stood. When the girl saw Marielle, she became visible irate. "_I suppose you want a job too, huh?_" the girl asked.

"_Yes, actually. However, I'm as conceited as…my husband. I'll take any job you'll give me._"

The girl contemplated Marielle for a moment, then said, "_We're hiring maids._"

"_I can do that._"

"_Fine. I'll call Madame Page._"

Moments later, a portly woman in a beige dress and white apron entered the lobby and approached the desk. She was middle aged, but pretty, with dark hair tied back in a bun and a kind face.

"_I'm Annette Page,_" she said. "_Are you the girl looking for a job?"_

"_Yes, ma'am. Ah, my husband and I just moved here. He's interviewing for the casino._"

"_That's fine, dear. Can you clean?"_

"_Yes."_

"_Then you have a job. Come to the back and we'll get you a uniform. Come in Monday at nine._"

"_Thank you, Madame Page._"

After Rogue had gotten her uniform and been officially hired, she returned to the lobby, where she saw Raoul talking animatedly with Bonheur, who looked grim and put off. But they were shaking hands, so Marielle assumed Raoul had gotten the job. It'd be silly if he didn't, really.

Raoul left the sour casino man and returned to Marielle's side. "Did you miss me?" he asked, trying to hug her and getting only a smack on the arm.

"No. I got a job."

"_Oui?_"

"Yeah. I'm a maid now."

"Great! Now we can work here together, _chere_!"

"You work in the casino. You probably don't start until seven. I work in the morning. We don't overlap."

"We can fix that."

"Shut up. Let's just go shopping and furnish that damned apartment."


	11. Shopping

**I've been informed that poker in casinos is—and this may come as a shock—nothing like blackjack. Who knew? Haha, yeah, so I wrote poker totally wrong, but I'm going to just go with it. Remy obviously had to work in a casino—um, hello, duh—and he has to play poker. So I made it happen, even if it's wrong. Just…use your imagination.**

**And now, shopping! Yay! I'm about a gillion times more excited than Rogue is, but not as excited as Kitty would be, so yeah…. Anyway! Here we go! And look how quickly I updated! Haha, screw my midterms!**

**Enjoy!**

**-Forbala-**

CHAPTER ELEVEN: SHOPPING

After leaving the casino, Marielle and Raoul went shopping. In the department store, they went straight to furniture. Raoul approached a sales lady and said, "_My wife and I have just moved here and we need to furnish our apartment from scratch. Could you help us, mademoiselle?_"

The woman smiled and nodded—she would get a huge commission from furnishing an entire apartment. She immediately led them to the beds section. "_How much are you looking to spend today?_"

"_Money is no object_," Raoul said, smiling.

Marielle smacked him. "_Stop saying that! We're not going to spend a fortune, and you can disregard anything he says._"

The woman looked saddened by this revelation, but she figured she could work them into buying more than they needed or even wanted—especially the man. He clearly liked to spend money and like to have the best. She could work with that.

"_Yes, madame. What size bed are you looking for? Double, queen, or king?_"

"_Double will be fine. We'll need two, though. One for…the guest bedroom_," Marielle added at the woman's confused look.

"_We'll have a double for the guest room and a king for the master. Right, chere?_"

"_No. A double is plenty._"

"_I won't go smaller than a queen._"

"_Fine. A queen and a double._"

"_Well, our queen beds are over here…_" The woman led them to the beds to find a frame.

They shopped most of the day, stopping only to eat lunch. They didn't just need furniture, either; after lunch they shopped for dishes, kitchenware, the little touches, etc.

For the master bedroom, they got a dark wood frame with a somewhat traditional headboard, no footboard, and sheets with Tibetan influence in bright blue and brown. Raoul had more input in the master bedroom than Marielle would have liked, but she actually quite liked his selections. Dammit. The "guest" room (that is, Raoul's) had an almost identical bed frame, only this was a bit more modern—namely, a plain headboard. The sheets were nautical-themed blues and white.

They got matching dressers, short and long, two nightstands for the master bedroom and a wooden footlocker for the guestroom. The dining room table was a large square, the same brown as the bed frames and everything else, with a glass top and four matching chairs. It was simple, but with the curvy legs that made you feel more sophisticated. They got a single couch, a dark green cloth sectional, a short coffee table that really resembled a box more than anything else, and a large media center to house a TV, DVD player, movies, things Gambit stole—"You can't keep stealing!" "I don't want to steal, _chere_, but Gambit does. All these cabinets and drawers are great for him to hide things." As if Gambit and Remy and Raoul were all different people. Well, knowing him, they very well could be.

When they had finished their shopping, and after spending more money than Marielle was comfortable thinking about, they set everything up in the apartment. She vacuumed, mopped, and dusted, then washed their simple glasses and blue dining sets, and made both beds. This was all after or while Raoul was attempting to set up their furniture, with limited success. She actually had to got help him with the media center. She made him set out the kitchenware while she built the media center. But they got it all done and sometime around nine o'clock, the apartment was pretty much finished.

They collapsed on the couch. "Why did we get such a big couch?" Marielle asked, her voice more a groan from the long day.

"Because it's cool and we can have guests over."

"We're on the run. Who are we going to have as guests?"

"We're not on the run anymore, _chere_, we're incognito. We'll befriend the neighbors."

"I'm so tired. I hate shopping. More than an hour and I'm done."

"Then let's go to bed. Raoul will help you relax," he said, grabbing her by the waist and pulling her to him. She smacked his head behind her but was too tired to do much else.

"Get offa me, ya dang fool," she snapped, her accent getting thicker in her exhaustion and annoyance. It only made Raoul smile and hold her tighter. She made a high-pitched sound of annoyance and tried to wriggle away, but he accidentally tickled her and she twitched and giggled and screamed. "Stop! Stop it!"

"Oh, y' ticklish, _chere_?"

"No! Haha, get off! Stop!" she squealed.

They wrestled on the couch, Marielle trying to escape his grasp and Raoul trying to pull her closer, always closer, until they eventually fell in a heap on the floor, Marielle on top and flush against Raoul. She could feel his wonderfully hard body and her breath left her. She quickly realized she had to get off of him before she fell into his trap. Those damned eyes, vaguely red beneath the bright blue contacts. That smile, always mischievous and plotting something and gorgeous. His dark, almost auburn, hair that fell in his eyes.

_Shit, get up!_

She began to pull away, muttering nervously, but he wouldn't let her; he held on as though she would vanish into mist if he let go. He kept her flush against his body. "Kiss me, _chere_," he whispered.

"No. I can't," she protested, just as quietly.

"You can. I know you can."

"I'll hurt you."

"You'll absorb excess energy."

"Only for a little while. Then I'll absorb _you_."

"I don't care."

"I do."

"We could train, you know. I bet we could figure out how to control your powers."

"That's impossible. I can never touch anyone, ever."

"I don't believe that. We can control your powers and then we can touch as much as we want, we can be together in every way a man and woman should."

"I can't. I'd kill you."

"But what a way to go."

"Let me go, Remy."

"I'll never let you go, Anna Marie."

Marielle froze. "How do you know that name?"

"Remember that time where I stalked and kidnapped you?"

"Not one of my finer memories of you."

"I know everything about you, _chere_. I learned everything about you, using Magneto's resources under the guise of 'knowing my enemy.' But you were never my enemy. I never wanted to hurt you. I only ever wanted to be near you, in any way I could."

Marielle pulled away and this time he let her go. She stood. He sat up on his forearms and looked up at her. What a flattering angle.

"Shut up." Marielle turned and ran into the master bedroom and slammed the door. Raoul sighed and sat on the floor for a long time before finally going to the guest room.


	12. A Touch

**Hello, dear readers! Quick update, **_**and**_** a pretty long chapter here (seven pages!), PLUS a lot of important plot development. After some not-so-important no-so-plot-development. I should be doing homework or studying for midterms, but that's not important. What **_**is**_** important is writing fanfic, smut, and fluff! Amirite?**

**Geez, this is getting really long, isn't it? I didn't anticipate this. I also realized this is an m-rated story and I haven't done any dirty scenes since chapter one. I'm going to put some masturbation in here. Please give me feedback on what you want. Don't worry; eventually ROMY will happen for real, but what do you want now? Do you want more fantasies? Do you want me to keep the perviness to myself until they can really, truly be together?**

**Also, a page and a half of Remy in the shower. You're welcome ;)**

**Enjoy!**

**-Forbala-**

CHAPTER TWELVE: A TOUCH

Raoul got up with the sun the next day and immediately went to the bathroom across the hall. He brushed his teeth, admiring himself in the mirror. Yeah, he was hot.

He pulled his cotton boxers off and stepped into the hot shower water. He dipped his head back and let the water run over his face, back over his hair, and down his neck over his chest.

Rogue. Anna Marie. Marielle. He'd dreamt about her all night. He couldn't sleep. Her face, her hands, her body haunted him. He could think of nothing else. What had happened last night…he was getting through to her. He saw it. She had stayed on top of him, making only small, obligatory efforts to pull away. If she'd really wanted to escape him, she would have. Nothing he did could have stopped her. And what she'd said. She didn't want to hurt him, she cared about his safety and health. The look on her face when he'd alluded to sex…she'd looked like she was in pain. Her eyes were so expressive: she wanted to, she wanted to _with him_, but she didn't want to kill him. And he knew it wasn't just a general "I don't want to kill people" thing. He knew her. It was more like an "I don't want to kill _you_" thing.

Sex with Marielle. Just the idea made his breath hitch. Of all the many, many, many women he'd been with, he'd never wanted any woman as much as he wanted her. It hurt, physically hurt, he wanted her so bad. Not just sexually, but that too.

He loved her.

It had taken him a while to come to that realization, and then longer still to accept it, but once he had, he knew he had to be with her. When he'd kidnapped her, yes, it was to rescue his father. But there was an added bonus: time with Rogue. He could be with her, be around her, without the X-Men getting in the way and trying to convince her how bad he was. Well, he _was_ bad, but in a good way.

She'd been furious with him, but she was so sexy when she was angry. Her face flushed and she yelled at him and smacked him, and it was wonderful. He loved it, everything about her. Okay, so he was a bit masochistic. Whatever.

Raoul felt his "little thief" swelling at the barrage of Marielle images in his head. Angry, happy, laughing…laughing was the best. Her face was amazing, but so were other parts. Her soft, creamy skin that went so well with her dark hair. Her smooth, womanly curves. Those fabulous breasts and hips that she kept hidden under layers of clothes.

Raoul pulled on his cock and hissed at the feel of it. He could imagine Marielle's soft hand, bare, in place of his own. Her full lips kissing him. Her soft breasts pressing against his chest as she jerked him off. He couldn't get enough of the image of her. He was cumming hard in a matter of moments, whispering, "Marielle, Marielle," desperately, as though he was a starving man and she was an eight-ounce steak. He had to lean on the tiled wall, panting, when he finished.

He stood in the water for another minute or two before he gathered the strength to get out. He looked at the fogged up mirror and then grinned wickedly to himself. He grabbed a towel and wrapped it around his waist, low on his hips so as to draw the eye to the fun parts.

He swiped his hand through his hair and went into the kitchen. Much to his pleasure, Marielle was stumbling sleepily from her room, still in flannel pants and a loose t-shirt. She went to the fridge, saw nothing appealing, closed the door, and thunked her head against it, moaning.

"Morning, _chere_."

Marielle turned around and her eyes popped open wide as dinner plates. "Holy mother of God, Rem…Raoul! Put on some damned clothes!" she exclaimed. Her face was pink and Raoul smiled as the shade. He loved getting a rise out of her.

"I'm covered," he said with a smirk.

"You're…Jesus, you may as well be…go put on pants!" She spun around and hid in her room, slamming the door in an imitation of her anger last night.

Raoul sauntered to his room, quite pleased with himself.

X

Marielle paced in her room. Damn that idiot thief. Strutting around mostly naked like some rooster in a henhouse. Smiling like that. Moron.

She went to her closet and dressed in jeans and navy blue, nautical sweater.

She hated him. She really did. That damned thief. He had to goad her with the promise of touching, of kissing, of sex. He knew very well she could never have any of that, least of all with him. It was torture being around him. She wanted to love him, but she couldn't. She could never touch him. No matter what she did, she could never touch him.

She felt tears rolling down her face at the thought that had occurred to her a million times, tears that were identical to the ones that flooded her last night. She didn't even bother to wipe them away. It never helped.

Why couldn't he just leave her alone? She had accepted that she couldn't touch, but then he had to go kissing her, holding her, talking about kissing and touching and having sex with her. It was like rubbing salt in a gaping wound.

"Damn it!" she yelled, throwing herself onto the bed, sobbing. "Why? Why me? Why this? Why couldn't I have _any other power_? Even Toad is better off!" She pounded her pillow, imagining Raoul's smiling, flirtatious face, tempting her. "Why—why—why—why—why!"

After a few minutes, she simply collapsed in a pile of heaving, sobbing, and tears. She didn't hear the door creak open, or the footsteps approaching her bed. Or maybe she did, but she didn't care.

Raoul sat on the edge of the bed next to her, put his hand on her back, and rubbed softly. "What's wrong, _chere_?" he asked quietly, his voice soothing.

Marielle didn't answer him. She didn't have the energy or willpower. She just lay there and cried while Raoul rubbed her back and spoke softly. She didn't hear what he said, but it made her feel marginally better. After a long time, she had nothing left to cry out. She stopped heaving, stopped sobbing. She simply lay there in a heap, too drained of emotion to move.

"Are you okay?" Raoul asked.

"Fine."

"You want t' talk about it?"

"Go 'way."

"_Chere_, you can—"

"Just leave. Leave, Remy."

Raoul was heartbroken—both to see his _chere_ so upset, and to be cast away by her—but he stood and left the room, closing the door quietly behind him.

Marielle didn't come out of her room until Raoul was making lunch. She looked tired, still, but much better. Her eyes weren't red anymore.

"Hey," Roaul said. He poured her a glass of water and set it before her, then went back to making his chicken noodle soup.

"You've been to the grocery?"

"Yeah. There's a little market just around the corner."

Marielle nodded and drank most of the water in her glass. Raoul refilled it without asking.

"You feel better?"

"Yeah."

"Wanna talk about it?"

"No."

"Okay."

Raoul poured soup into two bowls and sat down at the table. They ate in silence for a while.

"While I was out, I rented some movies," Raoul said eventually.

"Hm?"

"I got _The Dark Knight_ and _Gone With The Wind_. I figure we can have a quiet day in before we really get settled in and go meet our neighbors."

"Sure."

"Are those okay movies?"

"Yeah, they're fine."

Raoul felt like he was walking on broken glass. He wasn't sure what had made her so upset, or what he should do to fix it. When he'd finished dressing and returned to the kitchen her heard sobbing and a bit of unintelligible screaming. He hated to see her so upset, and knew he was probably responsible, which only made it worse to see. Was it because she missed her friends and pseudo-family? Did she miss Logan? Did she resent Remy for stealing her away from her happy life? He wouldn't blame her.

Or was it something else? He wished he knew what he'd done so he knew how to fix it.

"Did we buy paint yesterday? I can't remember," Marielle said suddenly.

"Oh, yeah. We bought a few colors and some brushes."

Marielle nodded. "I think I'll start painting the walls."

Raoul nodded, fighting not to smile. Painting was cathartic. He knew she would feel better after an hour or so of painting. Plus, he would get to watch her paint and create something beautiful. He looked forward to that. He looked forward to some insight into that little head of hers.

After lunch, Raoul did the dishes while Marielle changed into work clothes and went to the paints and brushes in a corner of the living room. She looked at the colors they had, looked at the living room wall, back to the paints, and once more at the wall. Finally, she set to work.

Raoul stayed well out of her way while she worked, playing solitaire at the table. She moved the couch into the center of the living room, brought over a chair from the table, and began painting shades of green on the top half of the wall. It was well over an hour before she finished that and stepped back to look at it.

She had made a tunnel of trees with light shining through the leaves. She nodded and went back to work, using different colors. After another two hours or so, Raoul (who had begun doing laundry and making dinner) saw that she had painted a canal with a few boats tied to one wall and a bridge in the background.

"_Chere,_ you are an incredible artist," he said, sitting on the arm of the couch.

"Thanks," she said. She looked much better than she had at lunch, and she was even smiling softly at her work. Raoul smiled when he looked at her, because there was paint on her shirt, arms, and face. She'd tied her hair back, but there were specks of paint in her hair too. It was a little sexy.

"What are you gon' do next?"

"I don't know. Maybe I'll paint my room, but I don't know what I'll do in there."

"May I suggest you do your bedroom in the morning, so you don't have to sleep with the paint fumes?"

"Yeah," she mumbled, only half-listening to him.

"Come on, let's eat dinner." Marielle washed her hands and face while Raoul served dinner—Cajun chicken, rice, and veggies.

"God, you're a fabulous cook, Swamp Rat."

"Whatever gets me into your good graces, _chere_."

That made Marielle's face fall a bit, and she tried to cover it, but Raoul had seen it. Hm, interesting. Was that related to her breakdown that morning?

"So," Raoul began as Marielle washed the dishes. He had moved the couch back closer to the mural, but still far enough away for the paint to dry. "Which movie do we want to watch?"

"_Gone With The Wind_, definitely," Marielle answered, laying the dishes out to dry. Raoul set the DVD box on the media center, nodding to himself, and went over to Marielle. The sun was setting and only the kitchen light was on; it was the perfect romantic moment. He wrapped his arms around her slowly, cautiously. She tensed, but didn't pull away, so he continued. He set his chin on her shoulder and kissed her cheek.

His little trick didn't work so well this time. He only lasted a few seconds before he felt his consciousness slipping away. He could hear Marielle cursing before he passed out.

He woke up a few moments later to find himself lying on the couch, his head on a pillow and Marielle far at the other end of the long couch. He sat up, holding his head, and saw that she'd already started the movie. It had just begun, so he hadn't been out long.

"What the hell do you think you were doing?" she asked tersely.

"I'm sorry, _chere_. I thought it would be okay."

"Stop coming onto me."

He nodded, but got up and moved closer to her, sitting less than a foot away from her. He saw her body go rigid, but didn't do anything—either to move away or move closer.

After a few minutes, Marielle relaxed, apparently decided he wouldn't do anything for the time being. About an hour into the movie, she relaxed enough to talk and joke and tease and berate Raoul, which pleased him immensely. When Marielle put in the second DVD, she sat closer to Raoul than before. At two hours, ten minutes, he ventured to hold her gloved hand and she didn't pull away, didn't even tense. At two hours, forty minutes, he put his arm around her waist. She let him. He smiled and his heart pounded. He was making progress.

Sometime around three hours, Marielle began to doze. She had seen the movie about two hundred times and, much as she loved it, she was exhausted from the emotional roller coaster and the painting she'd done. She didn't go to sleep, though, until three hours and twenty-five minutes. Her head rested on Raoul's chest, her right hand stretch across her body to hold Raoul's on her left side, and his head rested on hers.

At three hours and forty-three minutes, Raoul kissed her hair. The movie ended shortly after that and he turned off the TV and whispered to Marielle to wake her. She mumbled and shifted, but didn't wake. Raoul was fine with that. He extricated himself, lifted her up bridal-style, and carried her to bed. He looked at her, curled up under those bright satin sheets, sleeping and at peace. He couldn't help it; he had to touch her. He swept his bare hand over her cheek.

And nothing happened.

He hadn't been focusing energy on his hand. He had touched her, skin to skin, and he was not only still conscious, but not even affected. It was as if he'd touched any other woman.

He could touch her. He could touch her, provided she was asleep? Okay, maybe she'd developed a block and made herself think that she could never touch so much that she couldn't—not while she was awake. But while she was asleep, she was vulnerable and her mental walls came down. Or maybe he could just touch her, plain and simple.

He could touch her.

He knelt by the bed and kissed her forehead. Nothing. He kissed her cheek. Nothing. No absorption, anyway; he did feel something else: magic. Touching her, kissing her, was the most wonderful experience. He kissed her softly on the lips.

She stirred and he felt his consciousness slipping. He pulled away quickly and watched Marielle. She mumbled something and turned over, but didn't wake. _Merde, that was close_, Raoul thought. She'd remove his head and balls and put them on a stake in the front yard if she'd caught him.

He stood and left her to sleep in peace.

He could touch her. Now he just had to make her see that.


	13. Learning

**Oh god, oh god. I am SO SORRY for waiting so long to update. I have been freaking out these past few weeks. I'm transferring to a different college, and I don't know which one yet, and I've got so much other shit going on. However, that is not an excuse! I have lost all inspiration for everything in my life right now. I can't do anything and I don't know why. Not even hentai can do it for me anymore. What has happened to my life?**

**Anyway, I've been working really hard on this for over a month. I have no idea why I've been struggling so much with Wolverine but here you go. I'm sorry it sucks ass. Speaking of which, if you're reading my Clex fic, I keep fantasizing about all the things I want to shove up Clark's ass. Look forward to it.**

**Also, look forward to more Wolverine. I didn't realize how long it'd been since we'd seen him (chapter 8!). So because of that, the fact that I love him, and a request by ElvenMuggle, he's back!**

**Enjoy!**

**-Forbala-**

CHAPTER THIRTEEN: LEARNING

When Marielle woke up the next morning, it was to the semi-familiar yet still shocking sight of Raoul's face, inches from hers.

"Motherfucking—! What the hell, dumbass?" she asked, smacking him and pulling the covers up to her chin. Not that she had anything to hide, she realized; she was still in her jeans and t-shirt from last night. Well, at least he hadn't done anything stupid, deadly, or unforgivable.

"Have I told you how cute you are when you sleep?" he asked. He reached for her hand and she smacked it away.

"Get out!"

"As you wish, _chere_," he said, kissing her hair and rolling out of the bed. He disappeared and she punched the pillow he'd been lying on.

"So," Raoul said over breakfast, about half an hour later, "we have an apartment. It's furnished. We have jobs. The fridge is stocked. We just need to go shopping one last time."

"What in God's name for?"

"You need more than a week's worth of clothes, _chere_."

"I do not, and I'm not going shopping today. Next weekend maybe, but don't make me go today. I can't go shopping again or I'll go insane."

"Then we can train."

"We need to find a gym first."

"_Oui_, but that's not what I was referring to. I meant your powers."

"Raoul, we can't train my powers and you will never be able to touch me. Accept that," she said. Then, muttering, "I have."

"I won't. I know you can touch. We just have to work on it. You couldn't fight, but you learned by training every day. Same with your absorption."

Marielle sighed. She wasn't going to cry or scream again. It didn't do any good. She simply ignored him and kept eating. Raoul, interpreting her silence as acceptance, stood suddenly and went to his room. Marielle watched him disappear, then reappear a moment later, carrying a first aid kit and a small heart rate monitor.

"What do you think you're doing?"

"We're training."

Marielle raised an eyebrow, like "are you for real?"

"After breakfast, of course, _chere_."

"Hm."

X

Logan walked down the dock, his duffel thrown over his shoulder. At the end of the wooden path sat a magnificent sailboat: It was large with three mainsails and in perfect condition. He'd hired a small crew—well, two men, actually—and they were going to sail across the Atlantic. Logan had got wind that Rogue was in France, and a ship was the only way for him to get there: He couldn't use the X-Jet because of Chuck's disapproval of his little adventure; he couldn't get help from Nick Fury or SHIELD; he was on his own. He couldn't buy a plane big and powerful enough to make the trip, or to hold his weight. He couldn't fly commercial because of, again, his weight and also his adamantium skeleton. He'd never get through security. So that left him to the ocean. He needed a boat big enough to hold his weight and make the lengthy, difficult trip, but he couldn't man a ship that big by himself, so he hired a couple men.

And here he was. Everything was ready for his trip. It would take about a month, depending on weather and currents, but Logan was a fairly good sailor and he had all the charts and supplies he would need. He was ready and eager to get moving. The sun crested the horizon as he reached the ship.

"Is everything ready?" Logan asked, with no preamble whatsoever. The hands—whose names he didn't care to remember—looked up at him, surprised by his arrival and abrasive manner.

"Uh, yeah, it's all good to go. We're just loading the last few things."

Logan nodded and stepped easily onto the ship, bobbing just a bit in the tiny harbor current. He disappeared into the cabin and threw his bags onto a bed, then reappeared on the deck. He walked about the ship, double-checking everything with a professional eye. When he deemed it acceptable, he went to the aft where the hands were waiting.

"I'm your captain. You will call me such. Now, tell me your names again," he said, lighting a cigar.

"Harry," said the first.

"I'm Cory," said the second, slightly shorter and darker in hair and skin than Harry.

Logan nodded and then they kicked it into high gear. The sun was rising fast and Logan was on a deadline. They sailed slowly out of the harbor and then through the bay, and finally out into the open ocean. Then the sails went full and they started speeding through the surf.

X

Raoul blinked, his vision blurry but becoming clearer, slowly. He saw Marielle's face, covered in worry, looming above him. "How'd we do?"

"Dammit, that's the third time! Raoul, we have to stop or you're going to become comatose!"

"Nonesense, _chere_. We touched for almost thirty seconds that time."

"This is pointless!" she yelled, standing up and pacing the kitchen. Raoul sat up slowly, letting his head clear, and enjoying the view of Marielle's perfect round ass shaking as she paced away from him, then her supple breasts bouncing as she paced passionately towards him again. She noticed him staring and kicked him half-heartedly in the leg, muttering, "Pervert."

Raoul stood up and grabbed hold of Marielle's hands, gloved now, and pulled her close to him. He moved one hand to the small of her back when she was pressed flush to him, and with the other he held both of her hands between their chests. He nuzzled his face in her hair and breathed deeply. He smelled the floral shampoo she used, but it couldn't mask her own personal scent, which was both homey and exotic, and utterly intoxicating.

Rogue froze initially, but only for an instant before she relaxed into his embrace, her forehead resting on his collarbone.

"Rogue, Anna Marie, Marielle, _ma belle chere, ma fille parfaite_. I trust you absolutely. You don't realize that I would die a thousand times just to touch you, kiss you, _once_. Rogue, I love you. And I know that if we work at it, we'll be able to touch one day. For as long as we want. As much skin contact as we can bear. I want to touch you and kiss you everywhere. I want to worship you."

Rogue began to shake with fear: Remy was being so honest—she didn't even have to look at him to know he wasn't lying—and so personal. It was actually terrifying. It was scary because Rogue couldn't return his feelings, no matter how much—or even if—she wanted to. She was trapped in this cursed body, and she knew it. But never more than right now did she want to believe she could train the absorption and learn to touch like a normal person. Never had she felt so close to Remy, or so afraid of him. If he loved her, truly loved her, that much, what could she offer him? What would he do? Love was a powerful, dangerous emotion and she couldn't reciprocate.

But for now, just a short moment in time, maybe she could pretend she could.

She pushed herself closer to Raoul and pressed her lips against his cotton t-shirt. He shivered. He released her hands and pushed his now free hand into her hair, lifting her face up to look at him.

"I love you, _chere_. Do you even understand? I love you so much."

"I know."

Raoul kissed her and tried to pull her closer, until they might've fused together. He kissed her passionately and softly and aggressively and feathery-light. He couldn't get enough of her. And she kissed him back with just as much vigor, but a few lonely tears slid down her face, onto their lips. They didn't notice. At last they pulled away for air. Raoul was lightheaded from the kiss and from her so-called poison skin. His hands rested on her jean-covered hips and they stood, panting, staring at each other.

"Raoul…"

"We kissed. For a long time. And I'm still conscious." He wouldn't tell her how dizzy he was.

"How?"

"You just need to let your guard down, _chere_. You've built so many walls to protect everyone from your skin, you can't let them down and relax and touch. You're too afraid of your own body."

"I don't even care right now. Just hold me," she said, curling into his body again. He scooped her up and carried her to the couch, where they sat snuggling for a long time. No more kissing, no groping or anything. Just sitting there, together, no worries. They weren't mutants or refugees or _in cognito_. They just _were_. And it was the happiest Rogue had ever been.


	14. French Maid

**Wilk****o****mmen, mein fruenden! Here's the next installment in our international adventure. What will our refugees do next? And what of Logan? At the time I'm writing this note, I have no goddamn idea, so let's figure it out together! Whoo! In other news, I'm officially a tumblr addict. Same name, if you want to go follow me (shameless plugging).**

**Also, the maid outfit sideplot comes from ElvenMuggle. Thank you for you great review, my dear.**

**Enjoy!**

**-Forbala-**

CHAPTER FIFTEEN: FRENCH MAID

Marielle woke up alone in her bed and with so many strange feelings: loneliness, longing, embarrassment. Last night had her all confused, but she quickly realized it didn't matter. She'd been happy in that moment, and she chose not to dwell on it. Besides, she had to get ready for work.

She took a shower and went to the closet to pull out her uniform. She grimaced as she put it on and looked in the mirror. She was a maid at the hotel but her uniform was anything but cute: it was plain and rather ugly. She was thankful for the long sleeves and high neckline, but the skirt was knee-length so she had to wear hose, just to be safe. She grimaced again and tied her hair up into a ponytail, then went into the kitchen.

Raoul was already sitting at the table, eating breakfast. Across from him was a covered plate. Marielle sat down with an absent-minded greeting and ate as if nothing at all was special, and indeed it wasn't.

Except for Raoul.

When Marielle came from her room, he looked up to admire her and got so much more than he'd bargained for: she was wearing a powder blue dress that fell to the ankle, with a neckline that was actually a collar, long sleeves, white cuffs, and a white apron. The blue dress had a scoop neck but underneath/attached was a piece of white fabric resembling a collared shirt, with a blue ribbon around the neck. She was wearing plain white socks and tennis shoes. He nearly chocked on his food. She was so goddamn sexy.

"_Bonjour, chere_," he said, trying to maintain his cool exterior.

"_Jour_," she replied, shoving eggs in her mouth and flicking a strand of white hair out of her face. She didn't even look at him.

"How'd you sleep?"

"Fine."

"Is that your uniform?"

"Yeah. It's so ugly. And it itches."

Raoul laughed. Of course she thought it was ugly. Okay, admittedly, it wasn't particularly flattering or well tailored, but something about it got him going. Regardless, now he had to tease her. "Oh, _non, chere_. Stand up, let Raoul see you."

"No way."

"_Oui_. Stand up and let me get a proper look at you."

She sighed and stood, threw her arms out, and spun around quickly. "Satisfied, perv?"

But just then, Raoul snapped a picture with a camera that Marielle didn't know he had. "Yes, I am. You look very—"

"I'm stopping you there. Don't finish that sentence. I'm going to work. Try to behave and keep the apartment clean and not on fire, will you?"

"No promises, _chere_," he called to her back as she left.

He had most of the day free, as he was working in the casino, so he left the apartment and hurriedly went to find a library or printing store. He found something like a Kinko's and had the picture of Marielle the Maid printed on glossy, 8-by-11 paper. He slipped it in an envelope and raced quickly back home, where he hung it on his bedroom wall with a pushpin.

He sat and started at it for well over fifteen minutes. Just looked at the picture. She was angry and startled, her face warped with the annoyance she so often faced him with. Her ponytail whipped around her head in mid-motion, bits of stray hair in her eyes, and her skirt rustled.

How he would love to bring her uniform into the bedroom. The facts that her skin was poison and she'd hit him hard enough to give him a concussion were non-issues. He wanted to hold her and treat her like a princess and a woman. He wanted to teach her how wonderful and fun touching could be—not just sexually, mind you. Last night, for example, where they curled up on the couch for hours. He wanted that too. The simplicity, the purity of it.

He wanted the sex too.

Don't think for a second he didn't want to have sex with her. But for the first time in his life, he wanted more than sex. He'd had more one-night stands than he ought to say. He'd had a few fuck buddies. But never anything more. Well, there was Belladonna, but that didn't count. God, he didn't even want to think about that bitch.

And then Marielle had come out wearing that maid outfit. Fuck, she was trying to kill him. He moaned as his Little Thief strained against his pants. He quickly unzipped his pants and pulled the front of his boxers down under his balls, his cock standing erect. He licked his palm and fisted himself, slipping into his talented, well-honed imagination.

_Rogue came home in her frumpy maid uniform, her ponytail slightly messy from a long day of work. She went straight to Remy, who was sitting on the couch, and sat atop his lap, straddling him. He was wearing full-finger leather gloves, and smoothed her hair back, not worried about her skin. He kissed her gloved hand, then each fingertip._

_Rogue pulled her hands away and slowly pulled the ponytail holder from her hair, letting it slip out and cascade over her shoulders and face. She gave it a shake and tossed the ponytail holder away, then ran her hands through Remy's hair and kissed him briefly, just long enough to give him a charge. He put his hands on her hips and pulled her closer, then moved his hands down to her ass and began massaging the muscle there. Rogue leaned back and slipped her hands under Remy's shirt, pushing it up and then pulling it over his head._

_Rogue mouthed at Remy's gloved fingers and licked and sucked them, then moved down and nuzzled her face in his chest hair, massaging his shoulders as she did. He felt the sting of her skin, but instead of pulling away, instead of feeling drained, he finger-combed her hair and felt reinvigorated. Although she technically took his energy, she also seemed to double it._

_She got up off the couch and knelt before him, running her hands up and down his thighs. She undid his pants and pulled out his cock, stroking it. Her silken gloves felt incredible on his manhood and he moaned throatily. Rogue smiled and blushed. She blew on his erection, causing it to twitch with excitement, and stroked it with both hands. She stroked and pumped, ran her thumb over the head, circled her finger around the crown, poked the slit and smeared precum all over her gloves and his cock. Finally, when he was about to blow, she deep-throated him and sucked hard, letting go with a pop. Remy came and Rogue tried to catch it in her mouth, but most of it landed on her cheeks, chin, nose, even her forehead. She wiped up as much cum as she could off Remy, licking it off her silken gloves. Then she crawled up to sit on his lap again and began to clean herself up: swiping at the cum with a delicate finger, putting that finger in her mouth, and slowly pulling her now clean finger out._

_Then she kissed him and kissed him, and it was draining him, probably killing him, and he was slipping into blackness and he didn't give a damn._

**I felt we needed some more smut, so that's what happened. I hope you like it! ~.^**

**-Forbala-**


	15. Paris

**So, I hope you all enjoyed last chapter! I've gotten some great reviews about it. I thought I might start doing more fantasies, what do you think? **

**Now, I'd like to talk about the names of some new characters in this chapter. I semi-intentionally nerded out here, but part of it was accidental (or subconscious?). One man is named Javert Marcellin—the hero Inspector Javert from **_**Les Miserables**_** and Marcellin being a French form of Marcello (painter) from **_**La Boheme**_**, who was changed into Mark (movie director) for **_**RENT**_**. There's also Benoit Valjean, Benoit the landlord from **_**La Boheme**_** (Benny the landlord and sellout in **_**RENT**_**) and Valjean from the reformed Jean Valjean in **_**Les Mis**_**. Their daughter ****É****ponine: in **_**Les Mis**_** she loves Marius (here, her brother) but he doesn't return her feelings. Then she dies and he marries Cosette (Valjean's adopted daughter), but yeah, not planning on any of that here.**

**So, if you weren't already a musical theatre nerd, you shall now become one. Because all three of those are great (I haven't actually seen **_**La Boheme**_** (actually an opera) but it's basically the same as **_**RENT**_** only straighter and with TB instead of AIDS).**

**Enjoy!**

**-Forbala-**

CHAPTER FIFTEEN: PARIS

Logan pulled his ship into port a short twenty-five days after his trip had begun. He had lost significant ground on Rogue and that mind-boggling, manipulative, girl-snatching Cajun ass; but goddammit, he was a master tracker and he was going to track the shit out of them.

He paused in tying the ship down to look up at Paris. Both Rogue and Gambit were fluent in French, Rogue loved to travel, and it was well within Gambit's character to take her to the City of Love. Logan looked up at the Parisian landscape and thought. Rogue had been there about a month, if he had it right, and he knew they would already have settled in and, unless Gambit was keeping her locked up (which he doubted), they'd have seen all the popular sights. That meant he wouldn't likely find them in tourist areas, but that he'd have to look amongst the citizens of Paris, which would be more difficult.

He put that aside for later and decided to handle his more pressing concerns. He leapt from the ship to the dock and tied it to the cleat, then left the midshipmen with the ship and walked up the deck to the office. He spoke to the man there in broken French. "_I land in port. I'd like to stay the boat here_."

"_Yes, sir, for how long?_" the man asked, grimacing only a bit at Logan's choppy French.

"_I don't know_."

"_Okay, please fill out these papers._"

Logan looked at the forms and recognized only bits and pieces of it. He asked if the man spoke English. He didn't. "_Someone speaks English_?" he asked, growing impatient. The man called for a teenage boy who spoke nearly fluent English, and together he and Logan were able to fill out the necessary paperwork. Before long, the midshipmen came into the office, bearing their and Logan's bags.

"The ship's tied down and cleaned out," one told Logan in English.

"I'm almost done here, then we'll go," he replied. Logan finished the paperwork and paid the clerk while the ship hands waited outside, glad to stand on solid ground again. They then caught a cab to a cheap French hotel. The hands would fly back to the States in a few days, and then Logan's search would begin in earnest.

X

It had been six weeks since Marielle and Raoul had settled in their Monaco apartment. They're jobs, while not luxury, paid the bills. They practiced every day and had made some progress in Marielle's control. She was able to touch for short periods of time, but only with her hands or a touch on the arm. Something like kissing would be more difficult—_would_ because she hadn't tried it. She had not kissed or even curled up on the couch since that night two weeks ago. Sometimes Marielle would let Raoul hold her hand, but she still smacked him when he tried to hold or kiss or hug her suddenly. She swore he did it because, more than getting a rise out of her, he liked when she hit him. Perv.

The Picards largely kept to themselves, though they always spoke with their neighbors from directly below whenever they saw them, a family of four: Javert Marcellin and Benoit Valjean with their two children, ten-year-old Marius and four-year-old Éponine Valjean. Marielle loved playing and talking with Éponine and Raoul loved watching her with the little girl. Sometimes, when Marielle was having a good day, she would hold Éponine's for short periods without the worry of absorbing her. Marielle often held the girl's tiny hand in her gloved one, and would chase her or play dolls and dress-up with her—neither of her fathers was any good at playing dolls, so Éponine usually played alone and thus looked forward to her playtimes with Marielle. In fact, Marielle would sometimes babysit Éponine and Marius. Raoul sometimes performed card tricks for the kids, and occasionally Éponine dragged him into playing dolls. Éponine said he played better than her dads, which Marielle thoroughly enjoyed teasing him about.

One night, Marielle was taking out the trash and met Javert at the Dumpster. They stuck up a conversation—how are the kids, what are you up to, et cetera. Javert then asked, "_What do you think about going out to dinner tomorrow night? Benoit and I can hire a sitter, there's this place downtown away from all the tourists._"

"_That sounds fun. I think Raoul is off tomorrow, so I'll talk to him and see._"

They said their goodbyes and Marielle went into her apartment. As she closed the door behind her, Raoul jumped out and wrapped his arms tightly around her, holding her close. She screamed and headbutted him, absorbing him slightly in her shock. He staggered backward, dizzy from both the head injury and the loss of energy and self. "Dammit, Raoul! Why do you insist on surprising and attacking me?"

"I just love holding you, _chere_."

"Whatever," she mumbled, flattered but still annoyed. She pushed past him. "_Javert invited us to dinner tomorrow night. You're off, right?"_

"_Sure. Are they bringing __É__ponine and Marius?_"

"_No, just grown-ups._"

"_Sounds fun. I need to go to work now. See you tonight, chere_."

"_Not likely,_" she said to his back. She went into the kitchen and began washing the dishes from dinner. She was still in her uniform, which she took off and put in the washer with the day's dirty clothes when she'd finished the dishes. After that, dressed in basketball shorts and a wifebeater, she went into Raoul's room and vacuumed, dusted, and generally cleaned and tidied up. She had a rotating schedule for cleaning the apartment: her room on day 1, Raoul's room on day 2, and the main rooms day 3.

When at last she had all her cleaning finished for the night, she went to her room and stripped down, turned on the hot water in the shower, and stepped in. She loved showers because the hot water took her to a different place, it relaxed her like nothing else, and it was the one place she didn't have to worry about hurting anyone.

She washed herself slowly and contentedly, thinking about Éponine and how adorable she was. Unbidden, thoughts of Raoul filled her head. His face when he smirked at her, after he'd attacked her earlier, that damn mischievous smile he gave her so often. She hated to admit it, but she _liked_ how his hair sort of fell in his reddish eyes, how he hugged her and doted on her and spoke of her like an angel. Not a single person she'd ever known had treated her even half as well as he did. Sure, she knew Logan loved her and he would do anything to keep her safe and happy, but that was more of a parental love. Raoul loved her romantically and, annoying as he was, she loved that he loved her. If she was able to touch, she might even feel similarly towards him.

Then she remembered that she was learning to touch and she had to reevaluate her opinions of Raoul. She didn't like how their relationship was changing; it scared her. She didn't know what to do now that a physical relationship with anyone was fast becoming a possibility, and Raoul was only further confusing her.

But her subconscious was winning out: His gleeful, teasing face appeared in her mind again. And then it morphed into that rare, soft, genuine smile he sometimes had, when he didn't think she was looking. And just seeing that smile on him made her skin tingle pleasantly, like fairies running lightly over her. And then she smiled because he was smiling and everything just felt perfect for a moment.

Marielle had to admit it to herself, however reluctantly: She liked him. And not just as a human being, but as someone she enjoyed spending time with and someone she might even possibly maybe one day could sort of love a little bit. And she'd be lying is she didn't admit she wanted to have—well, er, let's say Caribbean study with him. Yes. She wanted to study him in a Caribbean way. She knew he had to be toned (he was too vain not to be) and from what she could tell just through his clothes, he was freaking hot.

She sighed, got out of the shower, and pulled on her pajamas. She grabbed a book and went to the couch to watch TV and read herself sleepy.

Well, it worked. In half an hour, she was asleep on the couch, some cop show playing on the TV and the book laying open on her stomach. When Raoul got home—after midnight—she was still asleep, only now she was cuddling the book like a stuffed animal. He smiled mirthfully at the situation and approached her. He gently extricated the book from her arms and scooped her up, bending her over his shoulder, carrying her to her room. His upbringing as a thief insured he made almost no noise and didn't rouse her at all. He pulled back the covers on her perfectly made bed and laid her in it, tucking the blankets around her like a cocoon. He brushed her hair back and kissed her lips, ghostlike.

When he pulled back, there was a soft smile on her face and she whispered, "Rrrmy." That nearly stopped his heart. Had she said his name? Or was it his delusional imagination? Was it possible that she could be caving into his flirting and tricks and touching lessons? Could she be beginning to love him, even a fraction of how he loved her? "Remy," she said again, more clearly this time. He knelt beside the bed, his face inches from her.

"Remy's here_, chere_. What do you need?"

"Remy…" She rolled towards him and her arm went flopping over the edge of the bed, ungloved and open and inviting. He gingerly wrapped his fingers around hers and just held it, feeling the heat of her hand, and the smallness of it, and the softness of it, and the perfection of it all. He brought it to his lips and kissed it.

She began to stir at that. "Nnn…" But as she began to wake, her grip tightened on his hand. Her eyes tightened and then opened slowly. "Raoul? The hell are you doing?" And yet she still held his hand tightly.

"You fell asleep on the couch, _chere_. I was just bringing you to bed."

"Oh." She seemed to accept this answer. She also seemed to be only partially awake. Then she noticed their hands and released him, pulling her hand close to her body, and it was difficult to tell in the darkness, but he thought she was blushing.

"Goodnight, _ma belle fille_," he said, standing and walking to the door.

"Goodnight," he heard her say as he closed the door.

X

The next day, Raoul didn't have work, so Marielle left him a list of chores and errands, taped to the fridge:

_Raoul, since you've got a whole day of freedom, _

_maybe you could get a couple of things done._

_Don't dirty the apartment!_

_Go to the grocery (list and money on the _

_counter; I expect change!)_

_Fix the faucet (toolbox under the sink)_

_Fold the clean clothes from the dryer, __nicely__!_

_Have a good day! ;)_

—_Marielle_

He smiled somewhat ruefully and began the day by ignoring the list and making breakfast. After that, he sat on the patio and played solitaire. Then, shortly before lunch, he went in and folded the laundry, tossing his clothes on his bed and taking Marielle's into her room and putting them away. He took a moment to look at her panties, but it was a short moment. Then he went to the grocery and had a very rough time of it: he didn't know where anything was, or what brand he was supposed to get, so he got the cheapest of everything, plus a few extras…like beer. He was very glad when it was over and he could do something he sort of understood: fix the sink.

He pulled the toolbox out from under the sink and stared at the pipes beneath the sink for a moment. How hard could it be? The sink was dripping, so something was probably loose. He'd just tighten one thing at a time, test the faucet, then keep messing with things until it worked.

Well, his plan sort of worked. He ended up under a spray of high-pressure water from the u-bend pipe under the sink. He pushed through the fountain and was able to turn the wrench and stop the spray. Raoul did finally fix the sink, though it took longer than it should have and made quite a mess. He packed up the toolbox, then went to the hall closet and got the mop. Fortunately, the water was only sprayed into the kitchen area and he didn't have too much to mop up. Unfortunately, he'd left some of the groceries in the floor and had to wash and dry them before putting them away. By then it was about time for lunch and Marielle would be home soon. He set to making a simply lunch, which he knew Marielle much preferred over the fancier meals he so enjoyed making. He fixed up macaroni and cheese, cole slaw—good old-fashioned comfort food. He made toast, which he crushed and sprinkled over the macaroni, along with a little pepper. As he was pouring a Coke for Marielle and a getting a beer for himself, his "wife" walked in the door.

"Hey, _chere_, how was work?" he asked, going to greet her. She looked run down and like she just wanted to sleep for a few days.

"Exhausting. We had three girls gone so the rest of us had to double up."

"Poor _petite fille_. I got some beer today, if you want any."

"No, thanks. Did you make lunch?" she asked, approaching the kitchen table.

"Yeah, comfort food. Glad I did."

Marielle went gratefully to the table and ate. Raoul sat and ate too, but his eyes didn't stray from her once. She felt his gaze and shifted uncomfortably, glaring up at him occasionally. He didn't care; by this point her anger barely registered with him—and honestly, it was a habit for her more than actual anger. They had grown used to and comfortable with one another.

As they finished eating, Raoul said, "Would you like me to give you a foot massage?"

"No." Marielle shot him down automatically.

"You could wear socks, or I could wear gloves. I'm very good." Marielle looked at him and he could see her resolve crumbling in favor of her exhaustion. "There's a lot of things, you know," he said, voice low and attractive, "that we can do without our naked skin touching."

Marielle's face pinkened, just slightly, and she said, "Fine. I guess a foot massage would be okay."

Raoul grinned, somewhere between sweet and predatory, and Marielle wondered how much she would regret this.

They cleaned up their dinner and then Raoul went and sat on the couch, where Marielle nervously joined him. He reached for her hand and moved in to kiss her. She gave him her cheek but let him keep her hand. He smiled and said, "Lay back, _chere_." She leaned back against the armrest and Raoul lifted her legs, bringing them into his lap. She had left her shoes at the door and her socks on, but he was wearing gloves so he slowly peeled off her white cotton socks, rolled his thumbs over the balls of her left foot, over her arch, digging into the sore muscles. Her tense body melted underneath his expert hands. He worked his way down the pad of her heel, back up on the outside of her foot, and dug into each toe. He looked up at Marielle and saw that she'd laid her head back on the armrest and she was smiling softly, almost as if in rapture.

He bent his head because her look of slipping into ecstasy was too much for him and if he didn't turn away he didn't know if he could resist taking her in his arms and holding her and kissing her forever. He'd like to think they'd do more, but he doubted that she'd ever let him, and he was not about to make her.

He rolled her ankle, rubbed his thumb over the heel over her foot—the pad and up to her Achilles tendon—while his other hand massaged her ankle and halfway up her calf.

And God Almighty, she moaned. Just a soft little mewl of happiness and pleasure, "Mmmm."

He froze for half an instant before he resumed the massage. His throat was dry and he tried to swallow but couldn't. He moved to her right foot and dug into the pad, down, around, and back up as he'd done on her left, then up her ankle and calf. Fuck. She moaned again, almost a purr. He had to take a long breath through the nose, but he couldn't resist leaning down and kissing the top of her foot. She didn't shock or absorb him in the least. But she did whip her head upright rather quickly, eyes wide and lips parted in surprise. Her face was rosy and her eyes were dark and sparkling. She laid her head back again a moment later.

Raoul decided to finish up her massage quickly before she could torture him any more. He rolled her socks back on and put her feet gently back onto the floor. He gathered himself to stand and sneak off to his room, but she stopped him with, "Raoul! Do you…um, would you hold me?"

His heart tightened momentarily and he settled back into the couch, stretching his arms toward her. She reached out and took his hand and they scooted close together. He put his arm around her shoulder and rested his head on hers, but did not hold her too close; instead, he crossed his leg closest to her over his other leg and shifted, trying to get comfortable.

She moved stiffly, awkwardly, and rested her head on his shoulder. He nuzzled her hair and she began to relax.

"So," she said after several moments. "How did your day go?"

"Just fine. I fixed the sink."

"How much did you break first?"

"There was a bit of a leak."

Marielle laughed and it was high, squeaky, somewhat contained but working to escape. It was a little ridiculous, and he loved it. "Good job, idiot!" she squeaked out. He laughed with her and hugged her tightly and she leaned into him and it was perfect. She settled back into him, closer, more intimate, when their laughter died out. They sat on the couch, talking for close to an hour, before Marielle looked at the clock on the cable box and pulled away, pulling Raoul to stand with her.

They parted with tentative but happy smiles. Marielle went to her room to shower and get ready and, when she left the bathroom with her hair piled atop her head in a towel, another towel wrapped around her body, she went to her closet. She realized she'd left the few dresses she owned at the Institute, and had refused to let Remy buy her any on their emergency shopping trip. _Good job, past Rogue_, she thought. _Now you have nothing to wear._

She cracked open her door and saw Raoul leaning on the table, shuffling cards. He was dressed in khakis and a light blue collared shirt, his hair brushed back as tamely as he could make it, but pieces still hung in his face. He looked fine. "Um, Raoul?" she ventured.

He urned toward her and his eyes widened minutely, still red because he had yet to put in his contacts. "Yes?"

"I don't have anything to wear."

"Well, I'm sure we can find something for you," he said, pushing the door open and walking casually past her into the room. He went straight to the closet and looked in while Marielle stood awkwardly to the side. Raoul looked at each piece of clothing individually and for a full moment. In the back, he found the one skirt he'd made her buy: black, past the knee, and utterly plain. He pulled it out and handed it to her to hold, then flipped back through her clothes again, quickly this time. He pulled out three tops: a red satin v-neck, an off the shoulder top in black, and a green peasant top with long flowy sleeves. "Choose one. I recommend the red," he said with a smile and a wink. She hit his arm and grabbed the green one. He sighed, hung the rejects up, and bent down to examine her shoes, quickly choosing the black pumps, and went to her dresser.

"What are you doing?" Marielle asked, setting the clothes on her bed.

"Finishing your outfit."

"God, if I didn't know better, I'd say you were gay—hey!" She ran over and slammed her underwear drawer shut, nearly catching his fingers. "Out!"

He left with that devilish smile that made her heart pound in more ways than one, and closed the door behind him. She glared at the door for a moment before dressing.

When she emerged, Raoul looked up immediately and smiled smugly. "I am good. I should have been a fashion designer."

"Shut up, dumbass, and let's go meet Javert and Ben before they think we blew them off."

"It's okay. They'd know we were having crazy sex."

"Pervert!" she shrieked, walking quickly toward the door and leaving it wide open. He closed and locked it with a smirk, then followed her down to the street.

**WHAT THE FUCK? This was like **_**eight pages.**_** I know it took a while and I'm sorry, but it's longer and I'm really trying to work on that. Is this better? Give me feedback, **_**please**_**.**

**So next chapter I think it's going to be dinner, obviously, and then maybe another fantasy. Or two ;)**


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